TMNT: Apocalypse Then
by Belgianwritersblock
Summary: TMNT 2012. Post 'Raphael: Mutant Apocalypse'. Many years after the M-bomb struck, one Turtle is left standing, neither alive nor dead: A ghost in the half-shell. Is there hope after the apocalypse? Is there any purpose left? One turtle. One final mission. One last chance to make a difference. Feedback appreciated.
1. The holy chalupa

**A/N:**

 _A fair warning I give to all of my stories. Expect slow updates. Especially as I'm currently also working on 'The art of Trying' and 'Gravity Falls: Red Moon' and in the middle of renovating my house which does not leave me with much free time to write. But I just had to write this, after seeing 'Raphael: Mutant Apocalypse'._  
 _I plan on finishing all three stories. I just can't give you a time stamp on that. Concider me a far less talented, slightly less attractive, discount GRR Martin._

 _Feedback appreciated._

 **Apocalypse Then**

* * *

 **Chapter one: The Holy Chalupa**

* * *

Regard what was once a marvel of life and beauty, amongst the dead waste of dead space. What was a ball of blue and green and white and brown, hurtling against all odds through the void of the universe. Once unique, like all planets that contain life, in it's own special way. An oasis.

And regard it now, a sickly yellow and black swirling through it's atmosphere. Come closer and bare witness to the sands. Deserts where once plants grew. A place teeming with life, where animals rummaged for food amongst the woods and the oceans and the skies themselves. A place where humans roamed and thrived. Where people had busy lives in small villages and big cities. Where they worked. Where they built a future for themselves and each other. Where laughter was heard as well as the trotting footsteps of children playing. Where old men and women sat comfortably in soft chairs, remembering the good old days when the world was far more green and much more new and simply more… more.

If they only were here to see it now. They'd truly have something to complain about.  
Wasteland. As far as the eyes can see. Voids that drive men mad. Winds that will tear the skin of your bones. Air that chokes the life out of you, slowly. Rains that will consume you whole.

A world, once full of potential. Now not empty, but filled to the brim with insanity, decay and regret.

There's hardly any room left, as a matter of fact, for hope. Perhaps only a single spark, a mere flicker, in this shell of a planet. And that spark is found in the last green. A hidden, lost oasis amongst the harsh voids. A large stretch of land with water and trees and mountains, uncovered by four turtles and a meercat. It serves as a final sanctuary for the mutants that had not lost their humanity, far and few in between they were. And amongst it, over the years, more like minded were gathered, found and brought back. Like picking up the pieces of a broken reality. For once reunited, the four brothers did what they'd always sworn to do. That what they'd been taught by their master, father and sensei… The one mission they'd failed. To protect the earth.

Perhaps one day, through their efforts, the green would once again expand across the world and cover it. A lovely thought for sure. A tremendous spark to be had. Alas it was not the one preoccupying Donatello's mind.

Observe Donatello. His metal body, though rusty, hard as can be. The purple horizontal line on his face, acting as his eyes. His lean, metallic turtle features working tirelessly on a new invention, deep inside the last bunker. His never-changing visage does not allow for a worried look. And yet, he appears haunted and distressed. Fidgeting in his lab, what he fears most is stopping. He can't stop. Not now.

Once or twice between scribbling down notes in the dark, cold lab, his hand reaches out to the star-sticker on his chest. Covering where his heart would have been. His sharp, robotic ears twitch at every sound. He dreads what is coming. What he can't escape.

And yet… As the smartest soul on the world, even if his soul is all that remains of him inside a robot body, should know; as with the destruction of the earth and mankind, some things are out of your control.

* * *

The loud knocking on the door makes it way into his synthetic ears. The don bot was startled, dropping both the gizmo as well as the screwdriver in his hands.

"Bunker apples." He moaned to himself.

The metallic door opened, uninvited, letting in a stream of light into the dark room. The face that poked through was tired and worn out. As well as covered in fur and sporting pointy ears. She'd never grown taller. Even if she had turned into a middle-aged meercat.

"Donatello?" Mira the mutant meercat inquired.

"What?!" His tone more brimming with rage than he had any right to out against her, he knew.

He regretted it the moment he saw her hurt look. It was a hard thing to produce emotions such as grief, fear and distress without the proper brain and glands in your body. And yet, somehow, the robot he'd built seemed to be doing an admirable job. There were times he cursed his own intellect.

Balancing himself on his desk, he lowered his computerized voice. "What is it?" He asked again.

"You know what." She said. "He's asking for you."

He looked over his shoulder and saw her stepping closer. In her eyes, he read his answer. And yet, he had to ask.

"Has he changed his mind? Has he agreed?

It seemed to break Mira's heart too. "Donnie..." She implored, before continuing to chew her lower lip.  
He hung his head. "He's as thick as that shell of his." His hand palmed his square, metal head. He couldn't feel it's touch. Not really. But even after all these years, his learned reactions came natural to him. A moment later, he pounded it hard on the desk, denting it deeply.

From the corner of his cybernetic line of sight, he caught Mira's flinch and felt instantly ashamed. Eying the destruction of his actions, he whispered out loud. "Why is he so stubborn? Why were they all so damn stubborn?"

He heard her draw close to him. Her hand landed on the shell on his back. It was as close to his shoulder as she could get without straining herself. He turned his head to meet her gaze. There was something resembling a smile in it. Miserable little thing though it was.

"I suppose it runs in your family." She spoke compassionately, her head bobbed slightly. "Won't you go see him?"

"What is the point if he won't say yes?" His hand fumbled through a heap of electronics located on the desk until it found a disc. "I have the answer right here." He said, accusingly. "It doesn't have to be like this. I can fix it!"

"Donatello. This isn't about you. It's about him. He's your brother. You need to be there for him."

"He needs to be there for me!" Donatello let escape.  
He knew how selfish it sounded. Heck, how selfish it _was_. But he couldn't help himself.

So he doubled down. "He needs me?" He accused. "I need him." He held up the disc. "I need him here."

She could have done a million things. She had her whip on her, for one thing. And an impulsive slap or a kick against his shin would have been most understandable. Even if it would have wound up hurting her more than him. Instead she flung forward and hugged his waste. He froze for a second and felt all the anger, wherever it came from without the right hormones, flow away; driven out by inescapable realization and grief. The disc in it's little case fell onto the desk. His arms found their way to her back as well.

"Why does he want to leave me, like the others did?" He continued. Not in anger, but in vain. He knew he'd lost this discussion. His pointy ears and head sagged down. "He can't do this to me. Leave me out here alone..."

She broke the hug and looked up at him. He could see the aqua in her eyes. "I lost my entire tribe, Donatello." She confessed. "All taken away from me. I can still feel them." She gestured to her heart. I will always carry them with me. All the memories. All the love." She swallowed. "And all the regrets. Donatello, please, don't part with a regret."

"I don't know if I can see him." He spoke honestly.

"I know you will."

"Heh, yeah? How are you so certain?"

"I know you. I know you can't not."

She looked up at him. He nodded.

"Alright." He conceded.

* * *

As vibrant as the oasis above him was, down here in the bunker, Donatello didn't feel any of it. He didn't ' _feel_ ' anything, in any case. Not really. He couldn't feel the sensation of concrete passing under his feet. He registered, but did not hear, the heavy footsteps with which he moved. He couldn't taste the moldy air around him. He couldn't even smell the reek of death growing stronger as he made his way through the lonely, dark corridors.

But he did ' _feel_ ' in a different way. Separated from the rest of the world, as an imprint of what once had been the real Donatello, he could only truly experience his own mind. Or whatever you wanted to call it over a long night of philosophical debate and a good brandy or two. For starters, there was a coldness. Not the cold of the cool temperatures provided by the bunker, deep underground and deprived of sunlight. It was a cold that ran deeper into his digital soul. One stemming from the lack of his own body and the freezing metal trapping him inside like some ghost in the half-shell. He felt the darkness imposing on his mind. He felt lost in the web of decaying hallways, even though he knew where he was headed. In a way, it was the destination that made this sensation all the more powerful.

As dead and cold the bunker was, finding it had been a blessing. The oasis provided clean air, food, water and a sense of awe worth dying for. But for Donatello, who unlike his brothers or Mira couldn't experience the full what the green offered, the bunker had been a different kind of sanctuary. Seclusion. Walls. It reminded him of happier days in his lab just as often as he cursed it for reminding him of his own robot body. And he was reminded of the latter just about anywhere, in any case.

Plus, it had contained a limited supply of medicine, technology, spare parts and even a small generator capable of providing minimal power to the complex for another century. All courtesy of the army of the good old US of A. The community they were building would need to learn to work without it, sooner or later. But it could help them along the way. Even so, as useful as it was, the mutants at the bottom of the hill shunned the place for the most part. He could hardly blame them. They'd spent most of their lives living in such places. Where air was stale and true sunlight was non-existent. And yet again, these were things that didn't matter to the don-bot.

He made his way through the, dark underground complex, dreading every step. He didn't need to follow the green arrows pointing him to the hospital ward. He knew the entire lay-out of the place by heart, near well enough as his own circuits, conductors and transducers. And when he stopped for a second by the foreboding door, it was purely to give himself a second. His scans already told him who lay inside and exactly what condition he was in. Getting the signal of the machinery keeping his brother alive sent to him through concrete and steel had been a great effort. But he'd managed it all the same. Because some things were important.

He pushed open the metal door gently and poked his head through, greeted by the familiar beeping of Mikey's heartbeat registered by one of the seven giant computers, monitors and machines hooked into him. The youngest turtle, though now not young by any standards, seemed even more frail than when he'd seen him but hours ago, when they'd had a fight Donnie regretted to his very electric core core. But he'd be damned if he let this conversation run the same course.

"Hey buddy." He said, his voice trailing softly as he peered inside through his purple line of sight.

The shape in the simple hospital bed moved slightly, beneath the many clothes. The face hooked up to Raph's old breather, now re-purposed, stirred. And beside him, on a table, in a coolbox filled with ice-cubes, an ice-cream kitty poked it's head out.

"Meow." It said.

At the sound, the ancient Michelangelo opened his eyes, both of them. The blind, gray right one and the troubled left. They darted towards the door and seemed to take a moment before the recognition hit. In his old age, sometimes it took a while.

As Donatello entered slowly through the door, his brother's three-fingered hand removed the breather.

"Hey, hey." Donatello ushered. "Carefull there."

"How's my favorite brobot?" Mikey croaked softly as the equipment fell into the soft cloth.

Donatello took his familiar place in the poorly lit room by the sturdy, metal chair. His hand found his brothers and squeezed it slightly.

"I feel awful Michael." He answered, truthfully. "I'm sorry."

Despite it sounding like a rattle, his brother seemed to chuckle.

"It's cool D. I know you only meant well."

"Well… It might have been more selfish than I'd have cared admit, before Mira talked some sense into me." He sagged his head. "In any case. I left the disc upstairs. I mean..." He added hopefully. "It's still there if you change your mind but..." He cut himself short. This was dangerously close to leading to another argument. And they didn't have time for those anymore.

"Mrow." Ice cream kitty intervened, breaking the tension.

"Haha." The old turtle turned his head in the soft pillows to face his pet. The cat too had aged, but the cold seemed to preserve it much better than it's master. "That's right ice-cream kitty." He managed before he broke into a fit of coughing.

Donatello rose and held his brother with feverish worry until he finally managed to calm down and climb out of the fit. Luckily none of the tubes and wires going into him seemed disconnected. He ran a scan to be certain. The holy chalupa seemed exhausted by the time his breathing returned back to somewhat normal, but otherwise, he was doing just as well, or poorly depending on your point of view, as a few minutes ago.

The beeping finally normalized though.

 _Beep … Beep … Beep_

Donatello sank down, back on his chair and looked at his brother. If only stubborn old fool agreed…

"Don't look at me like that." Mikey smiled miserably. His one tooth showing like a rotten piece of corn. His crow-feet wrinkled kindly.

"I don't have eyes or an actual face. I can't shoot you any kind of look." Donatello retorted, feeling inexplicably caught.

"Yeah you can." He cleared his throat in the aftermath. "I know that look anywhere dude."

"Fine." Donatello challenged. "It's just: you always liked robots too, Mikey. I don't see why you would be so stubborn about this. Or Raph. Or Leo for that matter." It was hard to contain his rage by now. Wherever it came from. But he was doing an admirable job, he felt.

"True." Mikey conceded, grabbing Don's metal hand with both his own now. Mikey always had a way of staying up-spirited about just anything. His raspy voice continued. "You are far out heavy metal, dude. But it's not quite for me."

Deep down, Donatello figured as much. Michelangelo was a turtle made to celebrate life and all it had to offer. A prison like his own, barely bearable by the aloof Donatello would be pure torture. And still, he wasn't quite ready to throw in the towel. Exactly because the ancient nun-chuck ninja was such a junkie to life.

"Why do you choose death, Mikey?" He asked bluntly. "We could see so much more of this world together.

"Don't fear death brah." The answer came back. "It's like, just another journey. Just another path to take."

"I don't fear death." He answered. And found that he meant it. All cards were on the table now. And looking into those mismatched, kind eyes, there was no anger left in Donnie's voice. Just regret. And a twinge of shame, as he realized even on his deathbed, Mikey did everything to resolve any strife between the people he cared for. "Do you think the prospect of me living forever, in this shell of a body, is an enticing one?" Donnie's generated voice droned on. "Without you or Raph or Leonardo? As the last soul to remember what once was?" Purely for dramatic effect and out of habit, he sighed. "I'm separate from this world, Mikey. This body is a cage. Nothing more. I see others bask in sunlight. I see them enjoying the taste of water. I see them holding hands, sharing love. And I…" He squeezed his robotic hand gently. Mikey's one (sort of) good eye lowered. "I know I'm holding your hand, Michael." Donnie implored. "My scanners indicate it. It's sending all the information to my conscience downloaded into this prison. I know how much pressure I'm applying. I know what digits of yours I'm holding. How firm they are. I _know_ it, Mikey."

His brother nodded.

"Mrow?" Ice cream kitty asked.

Shaking with the effort as he did so, Michelangelo raised his arm. His middle finger found the cat's head and stroked it gently. The cat purred happily. A few moments later, Mikey brought the finger to his mouth and sucked up the excess treat.

"Dang girl." He whispered. "You're still as sweet as ever, gonna give me diabetes for sure." Then the old turtle turned his focus back on Don. "You know." He agreed. "But you don't feel." Michelangelo's voice wheezed sagely. A defeated grin crept on his face, brought on by nostalgia. The display was quite a feat for an old turtle with just one tooth left. "Didn't master Splinter used to say…?"

The old memory sparked in Donnie's matrix too. "Yeah. That I spend too much time thinking of everything, too little time feeling." He chuckled miserably. "But I'm a conscience downloaded into a shell, Mikey. Thinking is all I've got left these days." He paused for a second. "Just like you... You're all I have left of back then. And when you're gone, I won't even be able to remember what it was like."

"D." His brother's free hand rose up and found Donnie's shoulder. "You are more than wires, metal and static. I sense you, brah." The hand crept up and palmed his head softly. "Not just here." It trailed down to his chest and found April's star, one of the only things taken from the ruins of Old New York. One thing Donatello could not make himself part with. His brother's hand pressed softly on his chest. "But here as well. I know you don't feel it brobot. But I do. You're not just apart from his world. You are _a part_ from this world."

The holy chalupa's hand lowered softly, back into the soft blankets covering him. "How's that?" He asked smiling smugly.

"For fins' sake." Donatello had to laugh, despite it all.

"Like a turtle do, huh?"

"How messed up must this world not have gotten to have you as the wisest person alive?"

"It's 'cuz I got that mad life wisdom, yo."

Suddenly, a spasm of pain rushed the senior mutant ninja turtle's face. It was almost gone as fast as it came. But not fast enough to pass by Donatello unnoticed. Inside the robot's hull, red alarms flashed brightly.

"Mikey!" He shouted. All pleasantry fading like snow before the sun. The panic was pounding at the door, demanding entrance.

"It's cool Donnie." Michelangelo reassured, closing his eyes and groaning. "It's cool."

Donnie didn't seem to notice. He checked the machines next to his brother, ready to fidget with any number of the present buttons. "I can whip you up another batch of morphine?" He asked, hastily. "Where does it hurt? What can I do for you?"

"D. D." The dying turtle said, peering through the slits of his eyes and placing his hand on the robot's wrist. "D." He repeated. "It's cool." He nodded.

Donatello came down. He felt more empty than ever before. "What can I do for you, Mikey?" He implored again, slower this time. And despite his voice being computer-generated, he could hear the tremors in it himself.

"Don't give up, Donnie." The turtle swallowed. "We'll all see each-other again, in the end. But you are needed here. I can sense it, yo. Death isn't so bad. But only when you know it means something. Life… Life didn't turn out like we'd hoped. The earth got totally wrecked. But we've built something good here, in the mess of the world around us. This is a good place, and I helped make it happen. But you… You might be able to do more."

"More?"

"I don't know dude." Mikey croaked. "I wonder if this is what Master Splinter and Leo felt. Like a premonition or something far out like that. I feel in tune with the universe. And the universe, it speaks to me. Soon I will be one with it, truly. But by then, when I know what it is I sense, I won't be able to talk to you about it. It's just what I feel. A great purpose."

Donatello wanted to answer. _A great purpose? Mikey, this world is dead. There is nothing left. Least of all purpose_. But he couldn't. He bit his tongue instead. Or would have, if he'd had one.

"A great purpose for this here tortoise." His brother shot him with his finger, making the words rhyme.

Donatello didn't even have the heart to tell him they were turtles, actually.

"So don't give up, bro." The old turtle sighed, smiling thinly.

"I won't." Donatello lied. "Anything else I can do?"

Mikey seemed to think it over. "I…" He managed in the end. "I would like to see the sun one last time."

 _Beep … Beep … Beep … Beep … Beep … Beep_

Donatello clenched the sheets and took the longest time to reply. This was the last thing on earth he wanted to do. There were a few failed starts before he actually said anything. He looked over to the machined plugged into Mikey's arms and shell. Those were the fluids keeping him alive. Keeping the turtle's pain in check. There were monitors displaying his current condition. Machines. So many machines. Dependable machines. Mikey might not have long for this world anymore. But to unplug him now… it was like a death-sentence.

And yet… There was something so youthful in his one-eyed look. Something childlike. Something Mikey had never lost and that made him, well, Mikey. Something more than machines and medicine and bedrest. Something more than a failing body. The unbeatable _joie de vivre_ of the one-of-a-kind party dude.

"Mow." Ice cream kitty opted, eventually.

Donatello took the time he needed. There was nothing else for it. It took a while to kill a part of yourself. To say goodbye, hold it under water and drown it. It took some time to recover. In the end though, he met his brother's gaze. "Yeah. Sure." He conceded, trying his best to sound lighthearted but stammering the words. "I'll take you up."

Michelangelo seemed grateful. As content as he'd seen him in a long while.

The process of disconnecting all the wires and all the tubes from his last remaining brother was one of the most painful ones Donnie had ever experienced. With every needle he took out of his brother's body, he felt like he was plunging in another knife. Still, his brother just sat there. Smiling. Wincing in the discomfort, yes, but smiling nonetheless. Wearing a childlike glee with anticipation written all over his wrinkled old face.

Donatello kept talking. There was nothing else he could do. He explained in detail and with a soft voice what it was he was unplugging. He told his brother to be careful and to hold on. Anything to avoid the silence and blot out the screaming voice in the back of his head. A voice that demanded he leave his brother be. That he had to stop, because he was murdering him.

Lastly, before they were ready to take one last journey, the robot-Donnie wrapped the blankets around his brother's body whole.

"Like a snugly hotdog in a bun." Mikey laughed in a raspy voice and outstretched his arms. They were scrawny, feeble things. Shaking as they reached for the tin-can-turtle. And in a flash, Donnie stopped seeing the old man Mikey had become, but rather the excited runt of the pack he'd been when they were but turtle toddlers. When they'd been young, the youngest of the four brothers had often wanted to be carried.

As Donnie bent closer, his brothers' arms clasped around his metallic neck and shoulders. He placed his own cybernetic arms underneath the frail old body's back of the knees and underneath his shell. Mikey's head rested in his palm. He was so light. He couldn't feel him in any case. Though he could measure it up to a hundredth of a milligram. And he was so damn light.

"Sorry it's so cold." Donnie apologized for his body. "And hard."

"You got me bro." Mikey wheezed softly. "That's all that matters." He cradled his head against the cold, reinforced metal.

"Meow!" Ice cream kitty protested from inside her cooler.

"Okay." Donnie conceded, trying to sound cheery and failing miserably. "Come here you."

Somehow he managed to grab the container, allowing Mikey's legs to rest on his right arm without losing balance.

"You comfortable?" He asked his brother.

"Booyakasha." Mikey coughed.

Donnie turned and walked out of the room. His heavy steps echoed through the halls. Their sound broke the shallow, irregular draws of breath of the old, withered turtle in his arms. He walked on, despite every shiver. Despite every cough. Despite every grunt. Even if each and every sound broke his heart and sent him into an array of fear. But to slow down, was to give up. If he stopped moving, they'd never make it.

When finally they'd made their way out of the maze of corridors and reached the steps; a large, turning staircase. Donnie finally found the courage to speak.

"How are you holding up, Mikey?" He asked, ascending.

The holy chalupa grunted. His strength seemed to be slipping.

"We're almost there." Donatello comforted.

They were almost half-way up the stairs before Mikey managed to answer. "B-team for the win."

"That's right." Donnie replied. Because it was easier than saying nothing and much easier than saying anything worthwhile. "B-team for the win, buddy."

"Can you smell it?" Donnie asked when he reached the final stretch of steps. He couldn't, himself. But he hoped the fragile reptile in his arms could. "The fresh air? Can you feel the breeze?"

There was no reply. Nothing, except for the thinnest smile Mikey had ever smiled. His eyes remained closed.

With great care not to cause his brother any discomfort, the mechanic turtle used his back to open the iron vault door, left open by a crack.

Donnie cursed loudly when they stepped out into the light. Mikey, his grasp fading with each passing second, opened both his blind as well as his seeing eye. He saw the dark clouds too, blotting out the sun.

"I'm sorry, Mikey." Donnie said. "We'll try again tomorrow." He added, turning back into the bunker. He had to get him back to his bed. Perhaps then he could…

"No." The defiant croak was enough to halt him in his tracks. It would have been enough to tear his heart out, if he still had one. A single drop of rain splashed on Mikey's jaw. "No." The old turtle repeated, with great effort. "This is good… perfect."

" _Mikey_ …" Donatello tried.

But there was something imploring, begging, in Mikey's eye. Something making absolutely, crystal clear, that there would not be a tomorrow.

"The hill…" Mikey asked, sagging his head against his chest once more and closing his eyes. He wasn't smiling anymore. He seemed to be biting through the discomfort and the pain. Seeing this, Donnie couldn't possibly refuse.

Donatello looked out. He saw the nearby hill looking over the lake. It was abandoned. From time to time, some of the souls they'd saved came to pay their respect. But not today. Down below the mutants of the village were settling into their homes, unaware of the fate of the holy chalupa. They were seeking shelter for the coming storm. Donatello preferred it this way, honestly. This was family-only.

He nodded to his brother, even though his little brother didn't see it. "Let's go see them." He added, trudging on.

They were long and heavy drops. The frequency with which they broke increased steadily. Donatello did his best to ignore it, focusing on the two trees atop the small hill. "Almost there." He said, amongst other, empty reassuring things one says when a true silence proves more than one can bare.

The storm broke fully, when they'd reached the summit of the hill. Mikey groaned in his arms. Donnie figured he ought to be grateful it was just rain. Atop a hill, a tall, metal turtle would not do well when lightning was involved. And with his brother in his arms… He clamped Mikey slightly tighter, holding him firmly as they sank to the ground next to the two budding trees. Ice cream kitty's container was placed on the ground with almost as much care. She held it's red lid over her head to shelter herself from the rain.

Donnie hugged his brother. He knew he did this. But he didn't feel it.

"Look. We're here, Mikey." Donatello managed. His voice rising over the constant downpour.

Gingerly, the one seeing eye opened and the old turtle craned to peer through the heavy rain. Donnie moved to aid him, putting him in a better position to see the two simple tombstones underneath the growing trees. One read 'Leonardo', and underneath that was inscribed ' _The leader in blue_.' In a ninety degree turn, the other one loomed, reading 'Raphael.' And ' _Cool but crude_ '.

"Hey bro's…" Mikey uttered, but his voice but a whisper. An echo of what it once was. Donatello noticed him grabbing hold of him slightly tighter, as if in defiance. He replied in kind.

"Thanks… D." His one eye looked up at him.

"Anytime…" He nodded, it almost hurt too much to say anything at all.

To his horror, Michelangelo closed his eye and folded his arms close to him. "I love you, bro." He whispered.

It took Donnie a moment to realize it had been with this last breath.

"I love you too, bro."

He bumped his metal forehead against his brother's, gently. If he fooled himself well enough, it was almost as if his brother was sleeping. Almost. He held him close, pressed against his metal exterior. There was no logical reason to do this. He knew neither of them could feel it now. But there were some things you couldn't let be.

All around him, the rain crashed mercilessly. He heard it splashing relentlessly on his exterior. It were times like this he wished he could still cry. He couldn't feel the pouring water. Nor the cold winds.

What he felt was much, much worse.


	2. The metal master

**A/N:**

I managed to spend quite some time writing today, waiting for bricks to be delivered. Guess this was the result.  
By the way, did you guys know this site has two TMNT sections under cartoons? One under 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles'. The other under 'Ninja Turtles'. I've put this story under both. So if I mention a comment you don't see, it's probably under the other section.

I'd like to thank **Nutella Swirl** , **Sonic155** , **Raphaelfangirl4real** , **Anon** and **Midnight** for their amazing comments on chapter 1. Glad to see you guys enjoy it.

 **Apocalypse Then**

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Metal Master**

* * *

It was proving to be a bright and sunny day in the oasis. There weren't many clouds to note. And a pleasant breeze kept the rising temperature in check, providing a good balance. Mira ascended the hill in quiet reflection, enjoying all that nature had to offer. The cane underneath her right elbow supported her all the way. The man she was about to see had been so kind as to make it for her two years ago. Her limbs started growing old and stiff for a while now. And though she hated depending on it, it was an expertly crafted piece of work. And it worked wonders.

As she made the climb, she wondered how many times more she'd be able to make it to the top on her own. She liked to think she had a good few more in her. But there was a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't be that long before she had to ask one of her children or grandchildren to assist.

When she got close to the summit, every step brought her tribe's protector that more in view. Though he stood with his back to her, she was certain he was aware of her approach. But she couldn't blame him for not offering a hand. He had offered, the time before the last time she'd made the ascent. And she'd refused, more curtly and inconsiderately than had been necessary. A cane was one thing, but hand… she was not there quite yet.

His metal frame stood tall, but not taller than the three trees had grown. Mighty red oaks they were, basking in the marvelous sunshine. It was funny how she'd never seen a tree when she was a child and now, she could name and recognize so many different kinds. Donatello's metal frame shone in the light of the sun as he stood their stoically, vigilantly paying respect to his brothers. His staff in hand, as if he were standing guard.

She was breathing loudly by the time she got up there. But she wasn't going to speak first. There were times they didn't speak at all, up here. And that was fine. Out of respect for her friend, and those who had passed on, she was never the one to break the silence.

This, however, did not seem to be one of those times.

"Mira." Donatello acknowledged. He even turned his visor slightly, catching her features, before he returned his vigilance.

With Donatello, on one of these days, that was as sure a sign as any that he had something he needed to get off his chest.

"Donatello." She humored him, sidling next to him and leaning on her own stick. "There were some lost kids waiting for their sensei at the square, on my way over here." She broke the ice.

"There always are." Her robotic friend answered.

"Mirk was one of them." She smiled. "He asked me where the metal master was. I had to explain it to him. Again."

"I dislike that name." He confessed with a chuckle. "Reminds me of an old enemy of ours. But somehow I can't seem to shake it."

"It is catchy." She admitted. "I could tell Mirk…"

"No." He interrupted. "No. Don't. He's a good kid. Reminds me of his grandmother."

She smiled.

"He's getting pretty good with the staff." The metal turtle offered, after a cloud finished passing in front of the sun.

She felt the pride swell up. "You should see him with the whip." She added. "He'll be quite the protector of our tribe, when he grows up. I told him to go drop off his bo staff at home and hurry his butt over to Kaz' for some hand to hand training. He complained, saying he preferred you."

Her friend sighed genuinely. "Four days a year are not too much to ask though, right?"

She nodded. Four days. One for each of his brothers. And one for…

"How long has it been?" She asked, respectfully, looking up at the taller figure next to her.

He had the answer ready. "One-hundred and fourteen years, since the Mutagen bomb exploded." Giant calculator that he was, he probably had it in hours, minutes and seconds too. "To this day." He added. There was a sense of longing, even in that generated voice. You heard it only when you knew where to listen.

 _One-hundred and fourteen years_ … Had it truly been that long since the world had ended?

The idea of a world like the one the turtles and her old tribe's elders had told her about in stories was extremely difficult for her to grasp. She'd tried, as to understand Raphael and his brothers better. But she'd never gotten the hang of it. It was as foreign to her as the wasteland beyond was to the younger members of the tribe. She told tales of it late at night by the camp-fires. Stories that captivated the minds of small children and spoke to their imagination. But they didn't truly understand. They couldn't recall. Being raised amongst green, they didn't have the sand stuck in their souls. And being born amongst the sands, she lacked the same fundamental understanding of this crazy world of _air-planes_ , _phones_ and _internet_.

"You've been keeping this place well groomed." He spoke with a hint of gratitude.

Despite his efficiency, his tasks were so numerous he hardly ever had the time to tend to the graves.

"Actually…" She confessed. "I've been delegating that to our Marsa as of late. These old legs aren't what they used to be.

"Well… She's been doing a great job. Give her my thanks."

"I will."

Mira's eyes darted from Raphael's grave to Michelangelo's. She remembered carrying that white stone up the hill all those years ago. While Donatello could have dug the grave mechanically without much trouble, he'd dug it by spade. As if he tried his best to labour under the job. To suffer. Likewise, he'd inscribed the tombstone not with his mechanic hand, but rather with a chisel. Back then she could have sworn he'd note the holy chalupa's grave with the turtle's favorite word 'booyakasha'. Instead, it read ' _The wise guy_ '. It was fitting, she admitted. The tiny tombstone next to his just read 'ICK' and ' _Meow_!'. She couldn't imagine Mikey having wanted it any other way.

Mira was losing track fast of how much time she'd spent in solemn reflection. She could tell by the silence accompanying them, that her friend was struggling. It was a silence laden with hesitation and reluctance. Not at all like the calm Donatello was known for.

With all these lost ones surrounding them… Perhaps she knew what was bothering him. In any case, she did her best. "So… Chompy..." She started.

"Chompy?" He asked turning his head brusquely. He was clearly thrown off guard.

"Yeah..." She stammered. Perhaps she didn't know what was bothering him after all. "Uhm..."

His purple line of sight pierced her.

"Well..." She tried.

"No..." He conceded. "I know about Chompy. He's not much trouble for now. He sleeps most of the time… But then again when he wakes, he eats like crazy."

"You think he's sick?" She asked.

"No. Not sick." He fidgeted with his stick, preoccupying himself with it intently. "Just a growing boy."

That he was. He was three times the size she'd met him as. His features turning more pointy and fierce with each passing winter. Some of the children were growing scared of the way he looked. Most of the adults were already terrified of his tendency to breathe fire in the last forest on the planet. And he did eat a lot of the crops nowadays. There was enough to go around, for now. But what if he got even larger next year? And the year after that? It had been a subject broached to Mira by the rest of the tribe many times before. But never to Donatello directly. No one dared. Up 'till now.

"I'm not an idiot." The genius inhabiting a robot-body he'd built himself stated the obvious. He turned to look over the hill again. His line of purple was aimed for the mountains in the distance. "I know he can't stay here for much longer. But I imagine he'll leave of his own accord soon."

"What makes you say that?" She asked respectfully.

"He spends a lot of nights staring at the stars. He's looking for home. And all that eating and sleeping… He's storing energy for the trip."

"Are you sure?"

He shrugged histrionically. "I'm not claiming to have degree in astrobiology!" He complained, obviously getting into a foul mood. "It's an educated guess."

"Okay."

He paused before he apologized. "Sorry."

"It _is_ okay." She said.

There was a lot she could forgive him on one of the four days. And out of all four, this one often proved to be the hardest. He'd lost the world that day. And his body. And, if she read the hints right, she'd never asked and he'd never said, something even more vital.

He was struggling, even now. As often was the case, his hand moved for his chest; gingerly cupping the star.

"No, it's not." He argued.

"Okay, Donnie." She groaned as she sat down, something they'd never before done together on one of these occasions. It had always been standing in honor; staying vigilant. But she was but made of flesh and blood. Her knees creaked and strained as she lowered herself. She tapped the ground invitingly. _Come on_. She said, without speaking.

He seemed shocked and hesitated for a second. But then he relented and sat down, cross-legged. His staff laid across his legs.

"Donnie..." She started. "I've known you for a long time now. And I know you're not that good at opening up. You always want to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Even more so with the passing of your brothers."

He looked down, staring at his hands in his lap. It made for an embarrassed look, somehow.

"But I've grown old now. And contrary to popular belief; old people don't grow more patient over the years. We ain't got that much time left, see? So I want you to tell me, right now, what it is that is bothering you. It's not Chompy..."

"No. It's not Chompy." He agreed, continuing to try and out-stare his hands. "I mean: I'll miss him. But he'll go back to his mother. He'll be happy there. It's not as if he'll die… He'll just… be where he's supposed to be."

"So what is it, sweety?" She couldn't help herself. Her inner-grandmother came out, even if the robot across her was technically far older than she was. He seemed like a sulky teenager still, even after almost a century of growing up.

"I had a dream two nights ago."

"Oh?" This was new; he never mentioned his dreams before. She told him as much.

"That's because I don't have dreams. Ever." He answered. "When I power down, there are the ones. And the zeroes, of course. Can't forget about those guys. Once, I swear I even noticed a two in the corner of my vision." He laughed awkwardly. "But never a dream."

She was lost as how to continue. "Was it nice?"

"No." He said, finally looking up. Despite his frozen expression, he seemed dogged. "But that's not the point."

"It's usually the point when someone had a bad dream."

"The point is I had dream. That is the worrisome part. Not the badness of the dream."

"So what was it about?" She asked after a while.

He tapped his finger on his knee in an obviously irritated fashion. "You're not listening to me, Mira."

"I am." She countered. "You're not talking to me."

He avoided her gaze.

"Something is telling me we wouldn't be having this conversation if if were a nice dream."

"It was like a memory. Of today. But not exactly a memory either."

"Of today? A memory of the future?

"Well..." He seemed to be pondering the novel idea for a moment. His voice sounding puzzled and intrigued. "I guess but… Not 'today', today. I meant today; one-hundred and fourteen years ago. M-day."

She nodded. That made a lot more sense.

"It's kind of a blur now, but I was there back in New York on the day it all happened. And I was looking at myself and my brothers. Everyone was there. My friends and..." His hand moved for the star once more. "I was angry. Confused. I was fighting. I don't know what. I don't know who. I was… fighting the world. And nothing was going right. The harder I struggled to save everyone… The less I could do. It's a haze now but…"

She placed her hand on his leg in what she hoped would bring some comfort. "Yes?"

"It was all going wrong again. It was like how it happened. But not really how it happened. It was different too. And I felt this dreadful knowledge, inside, that I couldn't stop it. And I knew exactly what was coming. And no matter how much I fought, it just seemed to… No, Mira, it was not a good dream."

"Look..." She offered, plucking some grass. "We all have a bad dream from time to time… And especially if the day of commemoration is at hand we can..."

"I don't." He stressed. "I don't have dreams. I'm not supposed to. That's what worries me."

"So what do you think might have caused it?"

"Beats me. I've run scans on myself. There's no reason for me to be deteriorating. I don't..." He caught her gaze and seemed to rethink his answer. "Fine…" He allowed. "I suppose I might have been working too hard on my machine as of late."

He didn't need to say which machine. Despite making many useful, rather low-tech machinery to help work the land, process their food and build their huts, Donatello had been spending all of his free inventing time on a machine deep in one of the lower levels of the bunker. He'd been working on it since the first day they'd found the place. She'd even seen it on a few occasions. Never twice did it look the same. But there was one key feature; a helmet with a wide brim and a large amount of metal protrusions sticking out of it.

"The one you said you would need to catch up with 3,000 years of trans-dimensional physics for?" She asked.

"I have it on good authority that I'd only need 2,000 years." He chuckled, despite himself.

"You've always been vague about what it does." She accused. "About exactly what it is."

"It's hope." He retorted.

She raised her hands and shook her head in disbelief. She hoped it showed the full extent of her frustration. He was doing it again!

"Even though I've kind of always known it was in vain." He added, dejectedly.

"Well..." She said, letting the matter rest for now. "I guess that explains why I've seen so little of you over the past week."

They both stared at a far off cloud making it's way over the mountaintops. It looked almost like a fish, she reflected.

"I'm sorry." Donatello started again, eventually.

That was one thing you could say about Donatello. He wasn't one shy of apologizing.

"I worry about you, you know. You spend too much time in that dark place on your own."

"I help out in the village." He defended himself. "I teach martial arts and meditation and all other ways of the Hamato-clan."

"Yes." She agreed. "And you make and repair many things and teach that knowledge too."

"That's right." There was pride in his voice.

"But you do spend a lot of time inventing and dwelling in the underground on your own, don't you?"

The way his pointy ears drooped, there was something about his appearance. If she'd grown up half a century sooner, she might have said he looked like a beat puppy. In any case, it didn't seem right to continue with this. Perhaps it had been enough for one day. It _was_ a hard day for him regardless of their conversation, after all.

"Look, just don't worry about it for now. If it happens again you can always..."

"I glitched last week Mira." He interrupted.

She was taken aback and needed a few seconds to respond. "What?" She managed eventually. Not very inspired, she knew. But it cut to the point.

"It's why I was so obsessed the passing week. Why I kept working on the machine."

"I'm sorry." She held out her hand to slow him down. "I'm still wrapping my head around 'glitch'."

He lopsided his head slightly. "I lost half a second." He explained, as if it were the most simple thing in the universe.

Half a second? That didn't seem so bad.

"I sometimes zone out for a few minutes on end nowadays." She offered. Growing old sucked.

"It's different for me."

Mira placed herself as a nominee for the 'slowest on the uptake awards 114 A.M.D.' [ _After Mutation_ _Day_ ]. "How so?" She asked.

"It might be a sign that I'm starting to malfunction. That I'm wearing down, after all this time. Growing unstable… on my way to a shut-down."

She didn't know what to say. "You mean… die?"

He bobbed his head. "Whatever the robot-equivalent of death is. I'm not technically alive. Technologically alive, arguably yes. But not really. I am, as you once said, _a thing_."

"Oh come on…" She felt her voice stir discomfort and sorrow. "I didn't know you back then. I said it once, and I was wrong."

"I don't blame you." Something told her that if he had a real face, she'd see a miserable little smile meant to comfort her.

Mira swallowed. She was unsure how to feel about this. Perhaps he was too. He'd never wanted to live forever. In all the time she'd known him, he'd made that abundantly clear. Not like this. Not in his robot body. But as one faced with her own mortality, every day just that tad more, she knew the realization could have the same effect a sledgehammer had on a soft-boiled egg.

"So how do you feel about this?" It seemed like the best direction for the conversation. After all, congratulating him seemed way out of the question. But she didn't sense him asking for pity of comforting nonsense either.

He was trying to find the proper words. That much was clear. It took him a while.

"You know…?" He started eventually. "There was a time before mutants."

She smiled. She knew the stories. "When humans roamed the earth." She acknowledged in a spooky voice.

"My brothers and I were the odd ones out back then. But a friend of ours… before she met us… she'd had a fairly normal life. There was this time of the year, summer break, when normal people didn't have to do anything. No school. No obligations..."

The concept was novel to Mira. There was always something to do in her world. The community required hard work from all at all times. "Like one of these days?" She ventured.

"Yes." He nodded. "But two and a half months of it."

"Gosh."

"You know what she said to me once?"

Mira raised her eyebrows, indicating him to go on.

"That there were times that summer breaks seemed to go on forever. That there was no end in sight. Just endless. And quite often, if you can imagine it, she'd find herself bored. Uninterested. And taking all that time and potential for granted." He paused for a while. "And then suddenly, she'd find herself at a milestone. One month left. Half a month left. One week left… And there was always so much more she needed to do. So much she tried to cramp in at the end, after having wasted time doing nothing special and feeling sorry for herself. She'd been given all the time in the world, and in the end there was still so much more she wanted to have accomplished. And every year she cursed herself for letting it slip by, all that wasted opportunity. Every year she swore she'd make the best out of it, next year. That she'd make it count." His visor looked her straight in the eyes. "I want to make it count, Mira. I have to."

She grinned with a mixture of respect, awe and approval. Raw determination was something she'd always favored. _Well hello, Donatello._ She thought to herself. _I haven't seen you in decades._

* * *

Somewhere far across the desert an ancient yet futuristic construct loomed. To say it was enormous didn't even begin to describe it. And not just because you needed other words like hideous, ruinous and ominous. In fact, gazing up on it, any number of –ous words sprung to mind. Monstrous. Dangerous. Suspicious. Infamous. Villainous. Murderous. Malicious. And perhaps even, somehow, for as far as a construct could be considered as such; ' _slumberous_ '. But that last part was about to change real fast.

The half-buried giant metal ball, once white and pink now turned brown by a century of raging sandstorms, appeared at first glance as dead as the desert around it. But the poor lifeforms working in its shadow as the sun set behind the dark, poisonous atmosphere, digging deep in the remains of a long dead city, knew it to be a truly dangerous place.

It had a name, given by the pink God of the Cacti-clan who lived in fear of both the ball-shaped fortress and it's clad in metal master. In fact: every new sapling of the clan was brought up with his teachings. The most important one: _Remember where you are – this is Technodrome, and death is listening, and will take the first plant that screams._ Such was the life in Barbed-town; a great mess of shacks and ruins built to the side of the dome. From afar it might look like the town was a cancerous growth on the smooth and round, much larger structure. Up close, it looked even worse.

Yes, the cactus mutants had learned not to scream and to settle in their misery. They'd learned not to feel. Not to think for themselves. The pink God needed only slaves. And slaves need only follow orders. One step out of line, and destruction would be imminent. It was a cruel deity and it ruled with an iron fist. And an iron body, for that matter.

So for decades and generations, they dug; searching the ruins of what was once a much greater city than their own. For that what he desired most, they broke their needles. They ruptured their green skin. Wore out their roots and even cracked their piths. Each day. And every day. In the burning sun. In the cold of night. Every waking moment. More and more. Deeper and deeper. Again. And again. Until all hope and even the concept of retaliation was long forgotten and buried.

Some of the more hopeful claimed that if the artifact was found, their God would usher in a new age. One in which all cacti-mutants were free to roam the land and dig their roots down where they so desired. Most of the others were more cynical and felt that the helmet of power would never be found. Few dared to declare it. Even fewer had the chance to dare it twice.

Indi had been firmly in the latter camp for most of its life. Though it was a careful one; never letting it show. Perhaps it was fitting Indi resembled the spineless cactus so much. Like all its brethren, it had some semblance of the human shape left. It had what could pass for two arms and two legs even though they were longer than any human's. That made for more limbs than some of the clan, less than others. And tiny figs flowering made for fingers. It had eyes. Though they were always tired and irritated. It had a mouth, though it didn't need one. Its roots were more than enough to provide the necessary sustenance, along with the mutated sunlight. It was bald, but for the buttons of needles spread across its entire body. All in all, if describing it like a tall, walking cactus wasn't going to cut it, calling it a green, barbed, personified and depressed coat rack with socks filled with potatoes for arms that had run into an ill-tempered acupuncturist, might give you a better idea.

Needles cracked as it sat on it's knees and in slow movements tore the earth asunder with its roots. Occasionally it moaned, as members of its clan were wont to do. A slow and deep rumbling noise. For a single second it risked the wrath of its god and looked up to the skies, wishing for a life outside the deep pit it was toiling in.

It was about to have its wish granted.

Its hands deep in the hard ground; the twisting roots found something. Another shard of metal or brick, it knew. It did not grow excited. Remains like these were found every day. And never did they end the tribe's continued torture. It wriggled, dislodging the ground bit by bit. Until it cut itself. Across the mile-wide hole, some brethren looked over in a slow fashion. They sensed his pheromones; a plant taking damage. Most returned to their plot at hand. This kind of thing too happened often.

Whatever the thing was, it was sharp. And Indi had to to be careful in digging it out. Though it would mean punishment if it didn't meet its quota, it risked working slow enough not to get damaged.

And when the metal finally came into view, the first thing it saw was like a molten horn attached to something buried even deeper. And with each swipe from his fingers and roots, the empty and horrifying face came more and more into view. There were holes where eyes would be. And slits for a nose. It was sharp and pointy all over and looked like the face of a demon.

 _The kabuto_ , Indi realized. It saw the prized possession, the same one its tribe had slaved over a century for, right in front of it. And it didn't believe it for the longest time. There it lay, half-buried in the ground. Indi looked over its shoulder. Around it, its fellow cacti were still digging in their slow, deliberate manner. Cacti of all shapes and forms, slouching as most of them tended to do. Their minds and bodies broken.  
Indi returned its focus to the helmet. Now it could change. The digging could stop. Now that the pink one would have what he wanted… The teachings screamed from deep inside. Obey! It knew what it had to do. Yet it hesitated. Would the hardship truly end? Or would it just make things even worse?

Indi cursed being the one to have found it. What were the odds? After all these years? After all the ones searching in the pits? It spend so long making a decision, that it was made in its stead. Shadows loomed over Indi, and looking over its shoulder, it could see the others lurching. They were hunching and staring in the same awe.

Indi grabbed the helmet and tugged it completely out of the ground. Deep down, Indi hoped it would break. No such luck.

All around work seized as Indi carried the kabuto and made its way slowly to the edge of the pit. Behind, the others fell in line in the same solemn silence. Each and every one of them swayed as they walked in their slow, monotone pace.

Fear was in the air. Not the usual fear they'd come to know. Rather a new level of anxiety for the near future. And as the horde made its way up to the surface, Indi realized how long it had been waiting for exactly this moment for all its life.

It was nothing as imagined before.

When they reached the technodrome, they'd grown at least three hundred strong. But unlike in Indi's dreams, they weren't riling. There were no shouts of outrage and frustration. There was no desperate, justified challenge against the God. Only quiet acceptance, shame and the total inability to refuse.

Indi alone entered, walking up the long ramp. The kabuto in its hands impressed the cacti on guard. Special cacti, bred for war. Unlike their slouching brethren these were big, fast and strong. Their looks fierce and their bodies filled completely by the toughest of needles. But bred to follow, all the same. One look at the kabuto and they parted. Never before had Indi set foot inside the giant contraption that haunted and dominated its clan. It'd heard the tales, of course. And the told horrors unseen that undoubtedly lay deep inside already took the breath of it. For someone wanting to die rather than going on but finding itself incapable of refusal, photosynthesis was a bitch.

The dome swallowed Indi whole.

* * *

From one moment to another, or perhaps to the same, Donatello experienced the single (or multiple) greatest sense(s) of disorientation in his artificial life. Silly concepts such as causation and effects were thrown out the window where they were promptly squashed by the full weight of the fourth dimension into a nice little cube and stored aside, perhaps to be recycled for some other universe. Perhaps a good way to describe it was that the whole thing was like a memory of something that hadn't happened yet, folding in on itself.

In short, he had no idea how he got where he was. He didn't even want to focus too much on where that 'where' was. He had a nasty suspicion it'd prove a paradox too much for his logical mind. As lost as he was, he wasn't certain he wanted the world to catch up to this anomaly he'd stumbled into, or which had stumbled into him, just yet. And maybe if he didn't think about it, it wouldn't all come crashing down.

He was himself, but he was different. And he saw himself too, standing before him. Flesh and blood. … His metallic legs fumbled as he looked into his own eyes. … What was this? … And wow… had that gap between his teeth really been that big?

There was a whole world around them, but he hardly noticed. The sun at the horizon. The waves crashing against the downed and sinking Technodrome. The squawking gulls flying over head. He didn't pay any of it much mind.  
It were the faces, long lost, that captivated him. They all eyed him, expectantly, through the haze. Confusion was written on their faces, though not near as much as what he felt. Mistrust and perhaps… judgment? That would fit, he had no idea how he could face those faces. He'd failed them all.

Shinigami. Karai. His brothers. His old self. And April. Truth be told, Casey was the only one looking more angry than imploring.  
But that was Casey Jones for you. Suddenly, as if only now realizing he saw her, Donatello turned back to April in a haunted and jerking manner. He felt his conductors straining in the effort to understand. April was just as he'd always known her. Wearing her black jumpsuit, her red hair dancing in the breeze. But she didn't look like her cheerful self. Her eyes were quivering. He knew her. He could tell. She was unsure and worried.

He wanted to tell her not to worry. But he couldn't. He knew what was coming next. Deep down he knew. His matrix flashed him the information and it was undeniable. It would happen. As it had before. As it would. The M-bomb. And despite all his rage and his efforts, he was powerless to stop it.

Frustration and rage boiled together as he recalled what had been asked. It had been boiling for a while, with nothing going according to plan and the dreaded hour approaching. His friends didn't understand what was at stake. And now, his fellow gap-tooth had even had the audacity to question him…

He channeled it all. The sense of unfairness. The powerless frustration. The white-red outrage. And for the briefest of time it made a path clear enough to follow, through the haze of disorientation.

"Because you're all dead, Jones!" He snapped, scaring himself just as much as he did the others with his outburst. "You want to know how dead you are?!" He pressed his robotic finger against the shocked boy's chest. "I turned your skull into a bomb!" Now he pointed at his brother. "And Raph used it to blow up a war-rig!" If he'd still had lungs, he'd be panting by now.

The hockey-player stood there, mouth ajar. They all stood there, frozen. And in good tradition, it was Mikey who broke the ice in times like these. Donatello caught him nudging the other Donatello. "That is pretty dead, dude." The youngest turtle nodded.

"That…" Casey started, on cue as if given the okay to speak by the mere fact that Michelangelo hadn't shattered for breaking a silence that cold. "That is so metal." The teenager breathed, his eyes were filled with awe.. "No offense, Donbot." He added after some hesitation.

"Some taken!" Donnie shouted, but the rage was disappearing. If it's said the brightest flames burn the shortest, his rage had been the big bang itself.

He was losing steam. And with it, he was losing focus. Fast. And after that, balance was the next thing to go, he realized as he fell backward, unable to will his body to follow his commands. Time seemed to slow down as the universe caught up with them and crushed him whole. His friends all reached out their hands and shouted things like his name or 'watch it' as he tumbled back and faded back into code. And then, nothingness.

Donatello sprang from his recharger in the bunker like a transformer camouflaged as a Jack-in-the-box. Despite it being nothing compared to the confusion he'd just experienced, he still needed some time to catch his bearings. In his attempt, he knocked over both his desk as well as the chair and destroyed the metal door to his room.

After that, he calmed down a bit. A melange of shame for the destruction left in his wake and worries for the dream he'd had again, washed over him. He was alone in the dark. And though part of him wanted desperately to have someone around. Another part of him was glad no-one had been here to see him like this.

When he'd collected himself completely, he found he'd been recharged up to 96%. He might as well get back to working on his machine. It took him exactly 174,3 seconds to get to his special lab. Later, he'd be able to recall 173,7 of them.

* * *

It was already dark out by the time the pink God finished preparations. Barbed-town had been deserted, all its inhabitants having amassed outside the Technodrome. Their vacant stares glued to the dome for hours on end now. But apart from the occasional, uncontrollable moan, none dared make a sound.

Their hushed silence grew to another level when one of them spotted the figure atop the looming half-buried ball. One by one, they all gazed up in pitch-perfect silence. When the ripple of lifting heads reached Indi, it followed. It recognized the shape immediately. It would have even if it hadn't seen it up close, a few hours earlier. All cacti knew their God.

The pink head on it's waist was not visible from this distance. But it's metal, bulking body glistened in the moon's light.

Yes, from atop the Technodrome, Kraang Subprime looked over his stumped fools of followers. His tentacles itched in anticipations. They grabbed hold of the levers of his Irma-bot and moved it. The entire metal body moved to his command. He was laughing like a madman.

"Bare witness, you simpleminded vegetables!" He shouted into a megaphone held up by one metal hand. In another he held up a controller. "Enjoy the fruit of your labor. Kneel to the glory of Kraang!"

He adored speeches like these, towering over his slaves. One of the few things he felt had been worthwhile to come out of the entire 'earth-experiment', was the creation of the English language. There was just something inherently satisfying about the vocabulary, so much more apt than his own original language. Filled with such treasures like ' _bonehead_ ', ' _moron_ ', ' _cretin_ ' and ' _dingleberry_ '.

"You dingleberry's have been toiling away your entire miserable lives, searching for the Kuro Kabuto! Let me show you what your efforts have wrought!"

Oh, how he enjoyed calling subordinates ' _dingleberry_ '.

His suit pressed the button on the controller and panic erupted down below. The earth started trembling, shaking and breaking. And to their awe and horror, the dome they'd known and feared for all their lives started glowing and rose from the ground. The layer of dust evaporated as it reclaimed its white exterior. The technodrome roared as it rose from its slumber after all these years, like a bear clawing its way out of hibernation. Ancient systems flashed online. Energy flowed and static rushed through the air. Barbed-town collapsed on itself as the ball rose above ground level. And higher. And higher still. The pink, giant eye stared down at them from high above.

Like its brethren, Indi found itself kneeling in fear and wonder, bowing its head as a sign of reverence. Its resentment for the God and its power only outshone by its resentment of its own display of fealty.

And high above, Kraang Subprime roared on. "You see that?!" He shouted in deranged fashion at the slaves down below. "I'm the king of the world!" He pumped his arm in the air. Things were finally looking up, after all this time. With the Kuro Kabuto in his grasp, he'd finally found the ideal conductor. The kabuto's strong and conducive alloy fused with the super shredders mutagen had been the only of its kind on earth. The only thing that could have closed the core's current, broken by the turtles and their allies all those years ago.

The Kraang had lost everything. But they lived on through him. And just like this technodrome, they'd rise from the ashes of their defeat. He'd make sure of it. _He_ was Kraang Prime now. And soon, he'd be going home. Those moronic Utrom wouldn't know what hit them! Having restored the basic functions of the technodrome all he'd need was a sufficient power source to hop dimensions and return back to Dimension X. He'd be pleased to know that after a century of waiting, such a source would present itself in little over a month.


	3. The old friend

**A/N:** I'd like to thank the following readers (from both 'Ninja Turtles' and 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) for leaving their two cents. As I'd like to stress, I do very much enjoy feedback. **  
**

**Midnight** and **Nutella Swirl** both left me great comments on chapter two. I was very happy to hear you guys enjoyed the chapter.

 **Gwencarson126** on the other hand left me a flattering reply on chapter one. I mean, I'm sorry for the tears. But I can't help but take that as a compliment.

* * *

 **Apocalypse Then**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The old friend**

* * *

They found themselves on an open field, a little more than a mile from the village. It was dark out, but the stars and moon provided enough light to guide Mirk's steps. He made for a quaint sight this night. Like his grandmother, the twelve year old Meercat was fairly small, even for his own mutant race. It was therefor easy to mistake him for a sentient, traveling fruit basket. The giant woven container on his back seemed to drift through the tall grass on its own, his body disappearing completely beneath it. His grandmother, the clan eldest (not counting the metal master) had offered to help carry the heavy basket of food. Though he was grunting and sweating despite the night's cool air, Mirk knew there had been no way he could have accepted. Both for his grandmother, who was not getting any younger, as well as for himself. It was as the metal master sometimes said: ' _its through our challenges that we grow and rise above ourselves_ '. If he wanted to get strong, he couldn't something like a heavy load hold him back.

So instead, he carried it on his own as Mira lead the way. Melons and apples. Carrots and cucumbers. Tomatoes and asparagus. He preferred meat himself, but his parents had always said that vegetables made you strong. Under this strain, he could not disagree with them any longer. He was building muscles for sure. He could feel them bulging and shaking in the effort under his white coat.

"You alright?" His grandmother asked in that jolly way she got. A tone he mostly recognized her using against his father when he was being unnecessarily stubborn in a way that came back to bite him in the tail. He couldn't imagine why she was employing it now.

"Sure." He grunted. "Easy..." He started. And after a hard-earned breath, not easy as he was bent over, "Peasy."

"Not much further now." She assured as she made her way.

It proved true enough. With the heavy load on his back, Mirk couldn't see over the grass, but it wasn't long before he could hear it. A longing growl, rumbling and raspy. It was not as jolly as he remembered. But perhaps the healthy snack on its way would change that. He hoped so.

They found their friend in the middle of a large clearing. Chompy was the largest creature Mirk had ever seen; more akin to a small mountain than a turtle like sensei.

"Hey Chomps!" He managed between gritted teeth as he lowered the sack of goods. Two of the melons near the top rolled out to the ground.

Wiping the sweat of his brow, Mirk looked over only to find his friend ignoring him entirely. Instead the rugged and sharp hill of a fire-breathing reptile looked longingly to the sky.

"Hey boy…?" He ran around, and had to go quite a way, to have a proper look at the behemoth's face.

Despite his rocky features, the young Meercat could tell: It wasn't just longing… There was conflict and regret there too.

"Chompy?" He tried again, the sense of worry growing in his stomach now.

This time, he got a response. The giant's head tore its gaze from the stars and connected to the earth instead.

"What's the matter boy?" Mirk tried.

A mouth in which two score of Mirks could fit, with ease, opened, letting out the slowest, deepest rumble Chompy had ever produced.

"Oh, I know what you need." Mirk seemed determined to turn that frown upside down. He rushed over to the bag and rummaged deep. "You know you're not supposed to eat it first." His muffled voice came from deep inside the bag. When he crawled out, he was holding a half-a-wheel of cheese. "But I can't see you quite so blue." He added, looking proudly at his findings.

He offered it with both hands. But the sad mountain just shrugged and resumed gazing at the stars.

"Grandma..." Mirk started, looking over to his grandmother. "What's wrong with..."

That was as far as he got. One look at his grandmother's face told him plenty. She had quite the similar expression to the alien, fire-breathing turtle.

"Sweety..." She said, getting closer to him. He lowered the cheese and she placed her hand on his cheek. "Be a dear and go fetch Donatello for me." She spoke in a voice pretending to be alright whilst drowning in sadness. "Tell him… Tell him he was right about Chompy. And that he needs to come right away."

"… Yes." He said eventually, breaking loose from her caring touch and putting down the food with the rest. "Right away, grandma."

"That's a good boy." She whispered as she clutched her walking cane. "And Mirk?" She called after her grandson as the boy was already running through the tall grass.

"Yeah?" He said, turning around.

She could just make out the points of his ears.

"Go straight to your mum and dad after, okay?"

"But grandma!" The boy tried defiantly.

"No buts, young man." Her response came swiftly and sternly. "Just do as I say."

If he said something affirmative, it was lost to the cover of green, or possibly to the inner workings of his own mouth. In either case, all she heard was a discontent grumble. Nonetheless, the boy turned on his heels and sprinted as if his life depended on it.

* * *

Deep inside his own darker and significantly less clean fortress of solitude, Donatello's artificial mind raced as he worked on his machine. While his hands turned the screwdriver and he welded the hull of the would-be prototype Heisenberg-amplifier module in his relativity-circumventor, the computer he inhabited tore through lines and lines of complex calculations and impossible codes. He was getting there, if that was any consolation. Though by his estimates, he was getting there a good few hundred years too late. He was running out of time, fast. Quite the irony, considering…

For a while he'd thought it best, rather than focusing on the invention, to prioritize his efforts on his own well-being. If he could finish the machine in a thousand years, that would be fine. But he wasn't going to make it to a thousand years at this rate. The small skips and errors and glitches he experienced were growing in both frequency and duration at an alarming rate. Though they seemed to be somewhat kept in check if he simply focused on the job. And that was the thing; he needed a focused mind. A quick check and several more extensive ones following it had shown that in fact it wasn't his circuitry that was acting up. Nor a blown fuse or a worn out cog. The problem wasn't the hardware. It was the software. And performing brain-surgery on yourself was not an easy feat, with or without an actual brain.

Perhaps it was only to be expected. When he'd transferred his conscience to the Metalhead Mark II, it had been a desperate attempt; possible in theory but inherently problematic. MMII had been designed to receive his input, not to actually run his brain. And even over this last century, this achievement was something he'd tried very hard not to think about. There weren't the proper parts to run and generate his personality, his quirks, his memories... How on earth the computer managed to sustain his conscience on its own was a mystery he'd wisely chosen never to investigate. What if a closer look proved it to be impossible? Sure it seemed unlikely that he could think himself to death, but … he had a nagging suspicion that too much prying would start dissolving some things better left… solved.

In any case… Focus seemed to work. Concentration was key. Sure he still taught the martial arts and had his turns feeding Chompy. But that was as far as his recreation went. He'd been working the machine non-stop for the most part. So much so his stressed processors called for a time out, lest they overheat. But he hadn't experienced any glitch in over 12 hours and that was a run he wasn't about to give up on. It gave him hope; lied to him and told him he could actually do this. And he wanted to believe it. Even if it was just for a little while longer. So he ignored the flashing red lights going off in his mind. He could do this. If only he held on and pushed through. Just a bit further…

One more calculation. One more screw. One more line of code… One more.

The fuel reservoir of his blowtorch emptied as the fire in his soul and mind raged on like an inferno. With the flick of a finger the empty can dislodged and fell to the ground. The metal clang echoed through the empty halls. Already he was moving for a replacement, eager to not let go of the flow. Then, at once, he had it in his hand, without having picked it up.

He said a word aloud, to no one but himself.

It was not a very decent word.

He wished he still had eyes to shut in frustration and a desperate attempt to regain control of his faculties. _He had to stay in control_. But he had thrown the torch aside. He couldn't recall when. He was, all of a sudden, punching the wall. His desk lay broken in two. He felt the anger and confusion jump from moment to moment. Not a steady rise as it had to be in the reality he was missing out on. He only experienced the blinks. Not the in-betweens. Papers flew around him. Then they lay across the floor and he was bashing his head against the wall. He sat holding his head in the corner, screaming out loud. And finally, he staggered back, exhausted despite not having a body to exhaust.

Feeling the moment drag out and creep along, some semblance of normality returned. His eyes shot towards the machine protectively. Somehow, it had escaped most of the ravage his blacked-out tantrum had caused. There was something scribbled on there though, he noticed. Though with time creeping back in, he wasn't just ready to read it yet. The entire lab was a mess. Papers torn and scattered. Tools knocked off the shelves and those shelves themselves trampled under his blind rage. His desk completely demolished. His staff was lodged in an old monitor that had apparently exploded as a result. And the walls, what was up with…

But a sound distracted him. He turned to find Mirk sitting near the corner behind him, looking up at him with confusion and sorrow as he crawled upright from the floor.

How long had the child been there?

"Mirk?" He asked, unsure why the sense of shame was rooted so deep.

The boy had seen him. Seen him in his distress. There was no doubt. You could tell by his eyes. But somehow, as those big orbs gazed at him, that wasn't the worst part. If only he could remember what was.

"Are you alright?" Donatello continued as he tried to maintain his balance.

The young lad wiped away a few tears with his arm and took some time in taking him in. Donatello himself had to take a moment to get a grip on reality again. Mirk wasn't one to cry easily.

The boy looked him up and down before he tried, testily: "You're not red anymore."

"What…?" Donatello asked.

"You are you, aren't you?"

"Mirk… Of course I'm me. Who else would I be?"

The boy blinked. "I don't know."

"Hey…" He started, reaching out.

To his horror, the kid flinched and pulled back.

Donatello moved his own arm back, slowly. He stood there, at a loss for words.

"What's that?" The kid asked eventually, pointing to somewhere behind him.

"A very important machine." Donatello began. He would have kept it to himself, but there was this unmistakeable feeling of owing the child a proper explanation. "It's a ..."

"No." Mirk shook his head. "What you've been writing."

"What I've been writing?" The confused Donatello asked.

Dimly, he became aware of the red marker in his right hand; worn out and open. He eyed it for some time before he gathered enough courage to turn around. The writing sprawled across everything. Across the entire wall and the machine he saw the same two returning symbols, written in red. It popped out like him like blood.

01011001 01101111 01110101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01101010 01110101 01110011 01110100 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01110100 01100001 01101110 01110100 00101100 00100000 01000100 01101111 01101110 01101110 01101001 01100101 00101110 00100000 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01110100 01100001 01101110 01110100 00101110

"What the…" He let escape.

The marker fell from his hand, leaving a single red dot on the floor. It wasn't his own handwriting; perfect and orderly ever since he became a robot. These zeroes and ones were different sizes and shapes. Not well drawn but crooked… messy. And yet. They had something familiar about them.

Somehow, seeing him so disarmed, Mirk must've gotten over his fright. He walked up next to him and took in Donatello's subconscious work as well.

"What is it?" The boy asked once more.

His eyes scanned the writing on the wall but turned to the young man at his side. At least hen he didn't have to keep reading it.

"Something to keep me going."

Mirk had saucers for eyes.

"Does it help?" The boy asked.

While there were many things Donatello would confess to be ignorant off, nowadays it wasn't often that someone asked him a question he didn't know the answer for. It was a beautiful world in the Oasis. But a small one.

"I'll get back to you on that one." He answered eventually, as truth-worthy as he could manage. "When I figure it out myself."

He sank to one knee, coming almost eye to… well… visor, with the boy.

"Mirk..." He asked again, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. He ran a few scans. " _Are_ you alright?"

"Yeah..." The kid seemed to brighten up a bit, which was an enormous relief. "You just scared me there for a second sensei, that's all."

"I'm sorry."

The boy nodded. "Grandma sent for you." He added shortly thereafter. "I came to get you.

"Oh..." Donnie replied.

He couldn't help himself, he looked back at the message.

"I won't tell." Mirk promised, calling his attention back.

The mechanic turtle could tell the young meercat was being honest. He didn't promise out of disrespect to Mira, don-bot realized. It had to be a combination of his respect for Donatello and his constant need to show his imagined maturity. Paradoxically, it got mixed together with a childish giddiness for being part of a secret.

"Mirk that's not..." Donatello started.

Then stopped. He really didn't want the old girl to know. She was worried enough as it was. But still… this wasn't right.

"You can't go around lying to people. You have to be honest about things. I tell you and your team that enough, don't I?"

 _Well, that was hypocritical_ , he realized with solemn reluctance. _Do as I say, don't do as I do_. _Especially on 'what to say'_.

"Alright." Mirk promised, giving a devious little grin. " _If_ she asks whether or not you started glowing red and scribbled down a bunch of zeroes and ones… I won't deny it."

Donatello ruffled the young meercat's ears.

"You are too smart by far for your own good, you know that?" He asked.

Mirk smirked. "Coming from you, sensei, that's the greatest compliment I can imagine."

Donatello genuinely laughed. "So what did Mira want with me anyways?"

And quite suddenly, the boy's mischievous smile faded like snow before the sun as his mission returned to him. He only said one word. But that one said more than some entire volumes did. "Chompy."

"What's with Chompy?" He asked, despite the gut feeling he already knew what was what.

"She said… She said to tell you: 'you were right'. She thought you'd know what that meant."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I know what it means."

Donatello drew himself upright. He was going to have to face this. It wouldn't be the worst thing he'd faced. Not in this post-apocalyptic world he so desperately desired to save. He'd get through this. But to get through something, you have to face it head on. Mirk was hunching and biting his lip. It was a sure sign that he had something more to say. But Donatello knew better than to push him. Mirk wasn't one to keep his thoughts to himself.

When Donatello collected his staff from the broken monitor, the lad didn't disappoint.

"I like Chompy."

Mira had obviously wanted to shield him from it. There was no other reason for the coded message. But the tone in his voice told Donatello one important thing, despite all her wisdom she fell into the same trap almost all adults fall. Donatello included, he had to admit, from time to time. He noticed it when teaching his groups of pupils. The intelligence of children is not to be underestimated.

He turned back and eyed the solemn boy.

The kid looked up. "She wanted me to go straight home after I went to come get you."

"Yeah." He answered. "I imagine she would."

"I like Chompy." Mirk repeated himself, defiantly this time. "What should I do, master?" He asked.

"What do you feel you should do?"

"My instinct tells me I should be there too."

"Ah instincts." Donatello replied breaking up his staff into two pieces and placing them in the containers on his back. "My old sensei used to have saying about instincts."

"Really? What did he say."

"He used to say you should trust your instincts."

"Wow."

Donatello moved past the boy on his way out of the lab. "Unless they are wrong." He added.

As he turned into the hallway, he heard the confused voice. "Wait, what?"

Despite the unpleasantness ahead of him, Donatello couldn't help but feel the slightest bit uplifted. This twinge of satisfaction. It had to be what master Splinter had felt all the time.

He was halfway down the corridor when he heard his student having come to a resolve. "Wait up, sensei!" His hurried light thread trailed after the metal turtle.

* * *

It was meant to have been a private affair. Small wonder that most of the village had turned up. It was just one of those things that happened. Seeing a hurried Mirk running through the town, headed straight for the bunker, this late at night, followed by both the metal master and the boy walking straight back at a determined pace had peeked many an interest. And now, as they all stood gathered in the open field, the villagers knew they were witnessing something once-in-a-lifetime. The assorted collection of mutants gaped at the metal turtle interacting with its massive mountainous counterpart. And they did not know how to feel.

Sure, there was a certain air of grievance at the departure of their large friend and mascot. But only the children, unburdened with the logistics behind rations and fire-drills experience unfiltered regret. They clung to the fur and scales and skirts and pants of their parents, gazing at the sight with the hints of tears forming in the corners of their eyes. And none of the parents could remain untouched either. But they were filled with relief as well. Perhaps except for Mira, who experience both the crushing loss of a lifetime friend, as well as a deep empathy for her oldest living friend and the trials he must be going through. Anything else seemed dwarfed and trivial at that point.

It might have been best to let her closer by, Donatello reflected. But he was being selfish. This last moment of Chompy on earth; he wanted it to be his. Private. With one last look at the crowd dozens of yards off, he turned his attention fully to the adopted Volcantian Fire Beast. It was on all fours and looking at him expectantly. Donatello's metallic hand seemed so small as he placed it affectionately on the giant's jaw.

"We both knew this day was coming, hey Chompy?" Donatello said, staring the beast in it's kind eyes. "You know, you'd think after all these years I'd be better at goodbye's. But I'm still..."

He didn't get any further than that before a giant tongue swept him off his feet and made him fall onto his bionic butt. For one shocked moment, he couldn't do anything but stare as the slimy saliva dripped off him. Chompy's tongue hung out of his mouth like that of a panting dog. Where before, the winds carried the soft cries and murmurs of the villagers, total silence now reigned.

When the inevitable laughter finally broke, it was Donatello's. It worked infectiously. And before long the entire tribe was laughing, the gravitas of the moment forgotten, even if for just a second.

Clanking as he did so, the metal turtle rose to his feet. "Alright. Alright." He conceded. His arms parted and broke into the widest hug it was capable off. It didn't even begin to encompass the space-turtle's head. And yet Chompy closed his eyes, enjoying the touch. Its growl was soft and sweet.

"Now, it is a long way Chompy." Donatello said, breaking the hug but keeping his hands on the giant jaw. The big eyes stared down at him. "Be sure to rest where you can and take a snack break once in a while." He dusted off a bit of filth on the beast's chin. "And make sure you present yourself to your mother properly." He added, somewhat lamely. But he didn't want to stop talking, just yet. "Can't have her thinking we haven't been taking care of you now, can we?"

The rumbling that answered almost sounded like a promise. Almost. The giant's head withdrew and like a glacier made of rock and fire, Chompy turned. His front legs parted from the ground and the earth shook. There was a collective gasp from the tribe as he stood erect on his hind legs.

"And don't catch a cold out there!" Donatello yelled from down below. "It's cold in outer space!"

The head, high above, craned.

 _Alright_. The ninja turtle thought to himself as he looked at that mixture of amused pity. _Probably overdid it there_.

"Goodbye, Chompy." He said, his hand brought up for a simple wave. Yet, the shaking bit... that was proving too difficult.

It might seem to defy the laws of physics to imagine how a colossal turtle, the size of a large hill, flies. It might therefore, to safeguard your own mental faculties, be best understood as that Chompy jumped. And when he fell back to the ground, he failed to miss it entirely. The overall, initial impression was one of a clumsy attempt. But it was learning fast and before long, it swam through the skies like the great Akupāra _._ All of a sudden, two streams of fire exploded from it's back. And it got faster and faster still, until it broke from the atmosphere like a falling star, climbing upwards.

Donatello watched the flare until it faded completely. In silence he turned and marched back towards his bunker. Even as he passed through his tribe, as they gazed up still, he felt a deep longing for the solitude and security provided by his lab. A sense of purpose and distraction.

The clan parted as he made his way through. There were words of encouragement and support. And he was certain he mumbled some thanks appropriate in kind. But if he was honest, he wasn't truly listening. He had a date with his machine. And hopefully, thereafter, a good long recharge with nothing but zeroes and ones.

* * *

In the atmosphere of a world that took it's first steps in roaming the last frontier, right before it's ultimate self-destruction, it's not uncommon to find loads of debris. In truth, apart from Earth's moon, and several giant chunks of it after the M-bomb struck, there were thousands upon thousands of man-made satellites in orbit. And amongst this great mess of now defunct metal scraps, there was one very special. For it was not natural. Like the moon and it's own debris. Nor was it man-made. Not quite. Not really.

And breaking from the earth's atmosphere, this satellite was something the Volcantian Fire Beast, one of the only creatures in the known universe to have a sense that works just in space, picked up on. It's hard to explain 'hearing' to a deaf person. Or 'sight' to someone born blind. You must therefore excuse your author for approaching Chompy's sense like this and no further: It was kind of like a smell, if smells could sound sugary. And this kind sugary had a distinct familiar touch to it.

The colossal beast dwarfed by the planet bellow, swam in its orbit. He was curious. Playful even, despite the long trek looming before him. There was just something about it, something so... undeniably familiar. Despite the signal growing stronger and stronger, it took the giant turtle quite some time to locate it's source.

The white, metal, oval head spun slowly round and round its axis as it continued its orbit around the earth; constantly falling but never crashing down. Chompy spun with it, confused. Long lost memories resurfaced in it's reptilian brain. It tried to catch the head's eyes, but they were blank. He'd seen this face before. But it's eyes and it's slit for a mouth had been lit up green and joyful. Despite it's metal exterior, there had been life inside.

Chompy did the only thing he could think of.

He licked it.

The light's turned back on. In a shock of surprise, the head spoke. "Whoa, _blip_ , holy molly. What's all this then? _Bloop_ " With static twitching visibly in its eyes, the head still managed to focus them on his visitor. "Wow!" He exclaimed. "Nice space monster." The fugitoid spoke in its British accent.

Chompy screed happily.

With the initial shock and sense of danger fading, the professor narrowed its eyes. He knew that sound. "Could it be… _bleep_?" He asked. "Chompy, is that you?"

Chompy licked him again. It caused the fugitoid to spin so fast that he was getting dizzy. And yet, he'd never felt this good as in over a century. More than a century of hanging on on standby-mode. He'd sent out distress signals full force at first, hoping the earthlings down bellow would hurry up their space-program and find him. But after that one tragic day in which he saw the world end, he'd given up and submitted to the slumber.

That explosion had been the hardest moment in his life. Even harder than the loss of his body. For yes, he'd destroyed the black hole generator, at long last… but what good had it been if the world he'd saved just went to hell the blink of an eye later…? He would never be saved. He didn't want to be anymore either. With nothing but death and destruction bellow, after an explosion that even damaged the moon… There had been nothing left to hold on for.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you!" He laughed. It had to be true, he was having a hard time calculating it himself.

Chompy grabbed hold of him with it's front paw, effectively ending the unpleasant spinning.

"Oh gosh..." The professor continued, looking at the giant turtle fondly. It's green eyes archways. "Look how big you've gotten boy! I must say: just to know that at least something survived down there… it is bloody marvelous."

The giant turtle roared kindly in response.

"Who's been taking care of you, boy?" The professor asked, not expecting an understandable reply. "You've been eating and growing on earth all this time. So there must have been something left. Is there life down there after all?" The turtle seemed to be listening to him, but the professor was almost completely certain the gentle behemoth didn't truly understand. "A reassuring thought..." He went on with a cybernetic sigh in his voice. "In my old age. _bleep_ To know at least it wasn't for nothing."

 _Roar?_ It sounded like.

"I guess I can only dream..." He added. " _Blip_. That those kids had a full filling life down there. Casey and April. Your daddy Raphael and Leonardo. And Michelangelo and Donatello of course." The giant beast released him from its grasp, but the professor hardly noticed. He went on relentlessly. "They fought so hard for their world, but if you made it, then perhaps..."

He stopped. Chompy's face was coming closer to his now.

"Uhm… Chompy..." The fugitoid tried.

When the enormous, cavernous mouth opened, a slight panic overcame him. "Chompy! _Blip_. You just what in bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" He screamed in terror as the jaws moved past him. "Chompy!" He called out. "Chompy!" The jaws shut and he found himself trapped in the mouth, lying on a slimy tongue.

"Oh dear..." He sighed, when he realized the turtle wasn't about to swallow. "Just what are you planning my friend?" He asked aloud.

It wasn't long before the world began shaking.

* * *

Mirk sat on the ground, hugging his legs and looking up at the sky as generations had before him and, and this is quite the reassuring fact, generations would after him. Never before had he thought so much of the worlds that lay beyond. Sure, his master had told him the stories of when he was young and still made of flesh. But before tonight, it had all seemed so far away. And with Chompy's departure, it all seemed so much closer now. Somehow.

"Mirk?" His grandmother's voice called him back down to earth.

He turned to look over his shoulder and saw her standing there, leaning on her cane. He hadn't noticed up until now, but they were the only ones left in the field.

"I think it's time to go to bed, sweety." She said.

The matriarch of his family always had a way of making a command sound like a suggestion, without ever truly allowing any room for discussion. So it wasn't that he refused when he said: "I miss him."

She walked up to him. He felt her hand atop his head, caressing it motherly.

"I know you do." She allowed.

"Why did he have to leave?"

"Oh, sweety..." She confided. "Sometimes, people… just have to go where they have to go. Like a calling, from deep within. Sometimes… some of us… experience this moment of clarity in which they see exactly what they have to do. And no matter what it costs you… And no matter how much it hurts… And no matter how much you might want things to stay the way they were; you just can't ignore that calling. A date with destiny. A fate, written in the stars."

He smiled. His grandmother always had a way of explaining things in a way he understood.

"Like a fire, burning within." He responded, quite astutely. He looked up at his grandma.

"Yeah." She agreed. "And we both know Chompy has a lot of that, hm?"

"I just wish he didn't have to go."

She sighed. Perhaps it was too early for this talk. And in any case, it should be his parents doing it. She'd already had her turn ages ago. "In the end everyone has to go, sweety." She said. "It's… a part of life. In the end everyone takes a journey… amongst the stars and into the unknown."

"Like grandpa."

"Yeah." She agreed. "Like grandpa. It might seem scary. And it might seem lonely to us, who are left behind. But you'll never truly lose them." She removed her hand and brought it to her chest. "Because you'll keep them, here." She gestured to her heart. "And that way, they'll always be with you."

He nodded.

"You'll never forget about Chompy or grandpa, now will you?" She asked.

"No!" He promised. The very idea…

"Alright. That's good." She smiled down at him. "Let's get you to bed then."

"Okay." He drew himself upright.

As the pair of them began the walk home, he uttered: "I just wish we got to see him one last time."

He felt his grandmother's gentle push on his back as they kept walking. But it wasn't long before they halted their progress. Something was wrong. There was a strange sound in the air and as he turned to his grandmother, he could read that she too was utterly baffled. As one they turned around to see tons and tons of rocky turtle hurtling to the earth like a comet. A fireball aimed directly at them.

His grandmother grabbed him and held him close. It was not as if such an action was going to actually safeguard him. But instincts are tough little persistant things.

Lucky for them, the hurtling, living mountain slowed down as it neared the ground. The flames around it extinguished too. And with a thud felt throughout the Oasis, it landed.

Mirk blinked and looked at the returned Chompy. He blinked again and turned to his grandma. She seemed as shocked as he was. He blinked once more and returned his focus to Chompy.

"I must use this power wisely." He breathed.

The gigantic beast opened its mouth and spit out a big chunck of metal. Mirk broke free from his grandmother's grasp and caught it before it hit the ground. It was a large, metal face, he realized as he looked down at the oval in his arms.

"Oh hello there." It spoke in a cheery tone. "And who might you be? _Bloop_ "

Mirk looked upward slowly, just in time to catch what almost seemed like a conspiratorial wink from the humungous turtle. "Chompy..." He started. "What..."

But before he could finish, the alien turtle retook its two-legged stance from before. Cautiously both Mirk and Mira moved back as the turtle once more leaped without falling to the ground. But much less clumsy this time. And for the second time that night, they both witnessed the same once in a lifetime event.

* * *

Half a world apart, Kraang subprime looked up from his monitor inside the Technodrome's bridge. For nights on end he'd been in a particularly foul mood. His slave cacti, now housed inside the giant orb until he could rebuild the Kraang empire, felt the full force of his frustration and wrath. He'd always enjoyed barking orders and torturing his subordinates, but these past few weeks had been special torture. But tonight… Tonight seemed to make everything alright.

He shouted in glee.

"Yes!" He screamed in his raspy voice. "Finally!" He declared at the beeping signal.

The kabuto had allowed for minimal activities, but no more. For over a month they'd roamed the land at minimal speed. Any faster and they wouldn't be able to keep all the internal systems running. But now, the wide scans had proven useful.

How the energy-source had suddenly come into range, Kraang subprime didn't know. It didn't much care either. It was there. A fusion core strong enough to at guarantee at least one trans-dimensional jump. With it and his functional technodrome, he'd be going back to dimension X and undo all the trouble that Bishop and Queen had caused over an earth-century ago. He'd take back every Utrom they'd claimed. Oh yes, _he was going home_.

"Onwards you stupid nincompoops!" He shook his Irma-bot's fist mightily as he addressed the cacti slaves running the bridge under his command. "We've been given our destination!" He shouted in a deranged manner, his one eye fixed on the map on display. "Now bring me that horizon."


	4. The pending genesis

**A/N:** I'm hoping the spelling is alright in this one. Man, I'm tired. But I've gotten back to writing, when I can, on my three open stories. Next update will most likely be for The Art of Trying.

I'd like to thank the reviewers since last time. **Midnight, SewerSurfin** and. Thank you for your great reviews on 'Apocalypse then' in the one section. And **Nutella Swirl** Thank you so much for reviewing on 'TMNT: Apocalypse then' in the other.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The pending genesis**

* * *

Donatello tapped his metallic indexfinger, _you get to interpret which one of the three that is_ , fervently on his desk.

 _Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap – Tap_

For the first time in as long as he could remember, and he could remember most of his life as a robot, he felt trapped inside his bunker. As his finger moved on urgently, he noticed he was doing his best to avoid the gaze of the familiar face on the chair opposite to him. Why this was, he didn't quite understand. Donatello had never been the most introspective of the turtles. Leonardo had that art down and Michelangelo was so used to looking at the world and himself from any and all possible angles… Perhaps only Raph had a harder time with that. But then again, that guy had had some major anger issues.

"So. Nice place you got here, Donatello. _Bloop_." The head offered.

It was obvious the professor was picking up on the tension.

It should have been easier to reply. To say something. Anything. _Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything? Some refreshments? A limb or two?_ No matter how forced small talk might seem, Donatello knew it served as an essential part of social interaction. It built bridges and broke tensions. All he had to do was be courteous and ask something in reply. The conversation would be rolling and he wouldn't be so nervous anymore, not needing to go over in his processor of a mind just what to actually say. Anything would do. Anything!

 _Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap–Tap_

"Love… Love what you've done with the place. Really… Livened it up." The head spoke hesitantly, his cybernetic eyes darting around. Still the professor was trying to sound his cheery self.

For God's sake. If Donatello had nails still, he'd be consuming them by the handful by now.

But what did you say to someone like professor Zayton Honeycutt? Someone who sacrificed himself for the earth? Someone whose legacy you failed shortly thereafter? Someone you'd left up in the atmosphere, alone? Someone you had so utterly disappointed? Before him sat the one man he'd needed to see more than anyone else. The answer to all his prayers. And yet now that, miraculously, he had him before him, both words and direction failed the mechanic turtle.

A compliment wouldn't do, now would it? _Hello professor, you look well for someone deemed dead for over a century. Say, did you lose some weight?_ It couldn't be done. _How are you?_ Simple, right? Not quite. Social convention dictates you answer that with: _Oh, I'm fine, how are you?_ But the disembodied head wasn't fine, now was he? If Donatello was to ask that, he'd make the man out to be a liar within minutes of their reunion. And they'd both know it.

Come to think of it… The fugitoid already was a liar. Donatello's visor scanned the room. This lab located in the upper quarters of the bunker was not fit at all. Functional, yes, but not lively. Lived in, perhaps. But not great. It had to have been a joke. _Hahahaha_. Look at us laughing, two chums back together again. Isn't this funny? Like nothing happened. Like you didn't blow up! Like I didn't turn into a robot! LIKE THE ENTIRE WORLD DIDN'T END! _HAHAHAHA_!

"You alright there Donatello?" Zayton's voice was clearly troubled now.

 _Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap_

He'd have to ask him. Donatello knew that he'd have to ask him. Now that the professor was here. He'd have to ask him for his help. But how? And how many formalities would he have to suffer through before he would ask the ultimate favor? Was it best to get right to the point? He was running out of time, after all. For decades Donatello had toiled with his invention. For decades he'd tried his very best all the while knowing it would probably in vain. That had been the deal. He'd feel like he was trying his best to save a world. And in return, he'd feel little pressure. He'd always have the fail-safe of knowing it wasn't his fault but that time had been against him. And in even in these last few months when that realization broke from the back of his mind to the forefront, he'd found a way to cope with it. Not completely successfully, mind you, but it had born some semblance to balance, at least.

When he wasn't short-circuiting, that is.

Actually… He'd been failing. Crumbling. Breaking down…

But at least he'd been breaking down on his own terms! To put Zayton in front of him, to present hope in the jaws of defeat… That was a cruel trick of fate. Truly.

"I understand this, _Blip_ , is quite overwhelming my friend." The professor spoke. "I must admit I feel it too. Never thought I'd be back on this earth again. Let alone see a familiar face. Well, its not your old face… I suppose… but, uhm… yeah."

 _TapTapTapTapTapTapTapTapTapTapTap_

Truth be told. It hadn't just been overwhelming. The initial shock had him ecstatic; dancing wildly with the professor's head in his hands. At first he hadn't wanted Mira and Mirk to leave. They had to share in this bliss too. But the old meercat had ushered her grandson away, saying that Donatello and the professor would need some time to catch up. And he'd been too busy laughing and cheering that he hadn't had the time to tell them to stay.

Now, seeing as he was handling the situation a few minutes later after they'd both calmed down, he was glad they weren't here to see him struggling.

"Donatello..." The professor tried. "Look at me."

 _TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP_

He didn't want to. He couldn't. Too much had happened. He couldn't face those kind, understanding eyes. He didn't deserve to. The entire world was…

"It's not your fault, Donatello."

The tapping stopped. His hand balled up in a mixture of frustration and relief.

He swayed his visor towards Zayton's. They both had artificial faces… But he could tell the man was being honest. Not just kind. The turtle's head sagged as he brought his hands to his knees.

"I'm sorry." The turtle managed, eventually.

"It's quite alright." The beheaded one spoke in that friendly demeanor of his. He clearly misunderstood.

"I'm sorry we accused you..." Donatello spoke, finding his old friend's gaze again. "I'm sorry I figured out your plan too late. I'm sorry we couldn't stop you… save you. And I'm sorry I never picked up you were out there still… That I left you up there, alone. And I'm sorry… most of all… that after your sacrifice… we still failed you." He leaned back. "We failed the world."

Now it was the professor's turn to be oddly silent.

He craned his metallic neck. "Tell me we didn't?" Donatello asked. It sounded almost like a genuine challenge.

"You can't blame yourself for what your enemies did..." The alien professor spoke, eventually. "And you can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It will crush you, Donatello."

The mechanic turtle rose to his feet and walked about his lab. "It's a small world now." He countered. "I'll show it to you in the morning… all that we have left." He turned to his friend. "What we have is beautiful." He would have smiled feebly if he could have.

"I would like that. _Bleep_." Honeycutt replied. His eyes cheerful arcs. "It's a brand new world out there."

"Yes..." Donatello agreed. "A _new_ world."

He recognized the tone he lay himself. It was not a pretty one. Sometimes he was amazed by the sheer amount of poison and bile the years without his family had brought him. Surely, he hadn't always been this sarcastic? There had been a time it had still been a loveable character quirk? He hoped so. He hoped he hadn't always been half the turtle he remembered himself being, once. Before decades of losing loved ones, growing amounts of solitude and detachment and an expanding cynical point of view had made him a half-shell of his former self.

Surely the professor looked at this all from an opposite point of view. He'd just spent over a hundred years in space, alone thinking he'd failed everything too. This had to be like when Donatello and his friends first found the Oasis. That feeling of calm and happiness; a moment's respite of the inner turmoil. To the fugitoid this wasn't a place where he'd lost the last of his family. To the fugitoid this place too was hope. A gift he never expected after all these years.

"Right." The loose head tried from its resting place. "Tell me… What exactly happened to the old one then?"

"A mutagen bomb."

"Ah yes, well I figured as much, with the talking meercats and all." The head said in a conspiratorial and even humorous voice. "But who did it?"

"Three guesses?"

"The Kraang? _Bleep_."

Well… The man _was_ an intergalactic genius.

" _Ding ding ding ding_." Donatello faced his friend and felt instantly ashamed for the display of sarcasm. He was feeling off already, less balanced more and more, and somehow these recent events seemed to drive his centre further out of reach. "Sorry…" He replied. "Its not easy to talk about. I haven't … since before Mikey past away."

"Michaelangelo is gone?" The lights in his eyes displayed his sad-face.

"They are all gone, professor." He sighed. He rubbed his metallic arm in thought. The old habit now produced a scraping sound. "Master Splinter, Raphael, Leonardo, … All our friends."

"Oh..." The professor's voice sagged.

"Well… What did you expect?" Donatello tried levelly. "Tooth of time, in case of my brothers. Its been over a century fugitoid."

"Well… I hoped… As you were still here… Some turtles can live up to surprising ages."

He agreed, nodding. But still he had to burst the man's bubble. "This wasn't exactly the healthiest of worlds. And they were all aged substantially beyond their years. Via mutation, burden or isolation combined with a rather unhealthy diet."

"How are you still here, then? _Blup_."

"Pardon?"

"Oh excuse me." Honeycutt stated in a polite manner. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that your biological parts are suspect to the tooth of time too, right?"

"Biological parts?"

"Yes. _Blip_. Like your brain? The old noggin? My robot-body is doing a stellar job in keeping my brain alive and slowing down process of decay. But that's made, _bloop_ , by the finest of intergalactic engineering."

"I don't think you understand, professor." Donatello said, kneeling in front of his friend. "I don't have a brain anymore. Not an actual one."

The man seemed puzzled. "How is that… What do you mean, Donatello?"

"I didn't have a robot that placed my brain into itself… When the mutagen bomb struck, I downloaded my brain into this body. I was connected to it; controlling it remotely."

"You mean… you are a simulation of the real Donatello? _Bleep_. A copy?

"No." The mechanic turtle rose and shook his head. "I drained and transferred it."

The disembodied head seemed to need a few seconds. "Run that by me again?"

"I was connected to the Mark II at the time of the explosion and transferred my consciousness."

"Donatello… _Bleep_. There are many things I know that are possible in this universe. Wondrous things. Things that seem like miracles to the untrained and uneducated eye. But what you've just described, is not one of them. It is simply not possible without some bonding agent. An actual mind can't, _Blip_ , run on a software."

"I don't know what to tell you, professor. It worked."

"Exactly what happened that day, Donatello?"

Donatello turned away from his friend. If he pretended to close his eyes and focus, the mechanic turtle could still hear her voice.

" _Donnie_." April's voice trailed, lost but never forgotten. Her voice filled to the brim with pain; perfectly conveying her bloody struggle. He could see her in his mind's eye as she clambered over the rubble pressing down on him. And could still recall the pressure it had had on his real body. Like a phantom pain. The force that pushed down on his right arm, chest and legs as well as the sounds his shell had made. That cracking, crushing noise claiming the breath of him as the world grew dark and blurry. It was nothing compared to the pain in his heart for seeing her suffer and bleed out. Her fan lay discarded and scattered at the bottom of the rubble of what once had been an apartment building. Her black jumpsuit turning darker still as the ill-illuminated blood spread, in stark contrast to her skin growing more pale by the second. All around them the earth itself was shaking mercilessly. Screams and howls and shrieks were abound. The entire night sky that awful green as the moon itself was torn asunder. And yet, amidst all the chaos, death and despair; it seemed to be just the two of them. He could hear her fragile moan.

" _Donnie_." It haunted him still, along with the sight of her broken body and the trail of red she left in her wake as she crawled to him, inch by inch. She was close now. Close enough to see the tears in her eyes.

He'd wanted to speak. To say something back, but his lungs were collapsing and he couldn't manage more than a wheeze. Already his mind was transferring, though the jump didn't quite make it. Perhaps because he fought it, not wanting to leave her here, all alone.

"Donnie?" For one second, her voice was distorted, half hers and half robotic. It wasn't until the professor repeated himself that he realized again where he was. But he could still hear her calling out to him. He always could.

"Yes. Professor. Yes, I'm sorry. I was… lost in thought for a second."

"Do you think you could tell me what happened?"

The turtle struggled. "Some other time. Perhaps."

"It might do you good."

"I said…" He turned and heard his voice rise. He took a second to bring it back down. "Please professor. Some other time."

The alien cyborg carried a quizzical expression. "Are you alright, my friend?"

"I've been a little high strung as of late." He admitted. "Sorry. I don't know what it is. Just some minor malfunctions, I'm betting." The turtle evaded. "They're just driving me insane."

"Oh, well, _Blip_." The fugitoid said, apparently running with it. At least, should he still have been able to run. "If there's anything I can do to help?"

"Well…" Donatello said, picking up his friend and raising him to visor-level. "There just might be something."

" _Bloop_."

* * *

Indi kept its head bowed and low as his prickly hands and fingers worked the machinery inside the flying technodrome. The God's chosen cacti, the buff guards, patrolled the bridge. Their broad features and huge thorns gliding past the rest in long, slow steps. The rest, here, were of course the slaves chosen to work the controls under their supervision. Indi hated every moment of it, even though it knew it couldn't complain. It's brethren in the other parts of the monstrous, flying fort had harder, more dangerous and more draining tasks. They carried heavy loads and worked the dangerous machinery. And those that fell, either due to exhaustion or any number of accidents, were disposed of and fed to the machine itself. Or so the rumors went. Indi had to content itself with only being overlooked and occasionally stabbed by the guards, who in turn were overlooked by the God himself, seated atop high throne.

Indi risked a lashing as its eyes peered. The God sat, waiting impatiently, its metal body glistening. The resentment boiled within the living cactus. " _Be grateful, ya undercooked vegetable_." He had told Indi after being offered the prized Kabuto. " _I got a fine reward for ya._ "

Being stuck in here doing his menial bidding was apparently a fine reward. This survivors guilt, along with the knowledge that it'd brought in a new age of terror for its people, was apparently a fine reward.

The hatred building up within Indi was almost enough to have it search the controls for some switch. Some protocol. Something to blow the entire contraption to smithereens. Indi knew there was only one way to atone for its sins; to take out the evil that was their pink God and this infernal machine as well. It knew it couldn't take the monstrosity one-on-one. Better cacti had tried and failed. But, even though the rest of its people seemed to despise Indi for finding the Kabuto and heralding an age of even harder and more cruel labor than before, the sentient cactus knew it couldn't harm its brethren. No matter their ignoring him. No matter the amount of looks and moans behind its back… It had to make something right, not something worse.

But how? Indi was just one…

All of a sudden, the gentle cactus-mutant moaned in a deep, guttural fashion. The pain spread throughout it's body, raked by the long vine of razor-sharp needles. It's green blood splashed across the ground as it sank to its knees. Biting down to get through the pain, Indi's eyes looked up, finding one of the guards staring down. It was a particularly impressive specimen, three times as wide as Indi and about a million times as mean-looking, covered in both thick, almost iron-like, thorns, as well as black and dark-purple flowers.

Indi's hand moved gingerly to the skin of its back and winced when its fingers made contact. As cacti, its people had always had a healthy tolerance to the pricking of needles. But this warlike abuse of their nature was something else entirely. The flesh underneath lay bare, the upper layers of it crumpled and torn with the rest of the skin.

The monstrosity looming over Indi moaned deeply. The message was clear.

" _Keep working._ "

At Indi's initial moan, some of the others around him had looked over. A primal fear and surprise overtaking them. Their gazes were quick to abandon though. All returned to the work at hand. And Indi, for the life of it, couldn't tell if they bowed their heads out of fear for the same treatment or shame for not standing up. Then again, perhaps they simply weren't interested in helping the one that brought them their new form of damnation.

Indi dragged itself up on the giant computer, moaning softly as the tears flowed harder than the green blood ever could. Never in its life had it felt this powerless.

And yet… It was about to get worse. From high above, the pink God's voice bellowed; a previously slumbering calamity rising.

"What's happening down there?!" Its metal framework stood tall as its one eye fell to the floor below.

Looking up, Indi's voice stalked in his throat. The eye found the whipped cactus and there was no mercy to be found.

"All I ask is for you ungrateful poor excuse for porcupine-muties to keep working. And you can't even do that!" The God waved it's arms theatrically. For a second, he seemed to think things over. But before long he continued. "That's it." His rough voice growled. "Bring him up here!"

For one second, Indi froze. The tremendous pain in its back even forgotten as imagination took over; like a rip through time he was certain he could already experience all the wrath the undeniable near future would invariably bring.

But as the thorned whip lashed its way around Indi's neck; the young cactus was torn from the daydream in its mind to the nightmare that was its life. Its fingers reached for the leash immediately, but already the broad guard was ahead and tugged the whip. The thorns, already cutting deep into the flesh of its neck now mercilessly carved their way through. In desperation the shamed mutant tried to follow the constant tugging as he was dragged on to its doom. Each step took it closer, like a lamb to the slaughter under dozens of watchful and fearful pairs of eyes.

* * *

As Donatello carried his friend in one arm, he used the other to push open the heavy, door. It shrieked as it opened, revealing his deepest lab where just hours prior, Mirk had come to collect him. It was still, as ever, poorly lit. The mess was still abound as well.

"Ah?" The cheery decapitated professor remarked. "Are we here then, I must say… this is all..."

The metal turtle walked in a calculated pace. He couldn't tear his own visor off the machine and the message scribbled all over and around it. The professor was part robot too. He knew binary. Now the only question remained; was that what made the fugitoid fall silent? Or did it recognize the machine for what it was? Or at least, what it was meant to be? All the tubes and vials hooked up to the cogs and monitors in turn hooked up to what could have passed for a BDSM throne. With wires and currents to attach to his body and a horrific helmet dangling over it, just to finish off the nightmarish presentation.

"This is all..." The alien genius continued. But Donatello could now sense a hushed cautiousness in the man's voice. "… Impressive." The head finished, choosing the word carefully and obviously ignoring the writing on the wall.

The last ninja turtle wondered if the obviously omitted questions for an explanation both for the digital code, as well as the unfinished contraption, thousands of galactic years out of his reach, were a sign that his companion deemed him insane. And with that wonder came the inevitable question that if so, perhaps he was right?

In any case, they'd come too far to stop now. And if nothing else, the markings were a reminder that he was indeed running out of time because of these unexplained malfunctions. The only way onward, was forward.

"I wanted to show you this." Donatello said, indicating the machine. "Though I guess we might best mention the elephant in the room."

"Yes?" The head asked, still staring at the writings on the wall. When it became apparent that Donatello was struggling to begin, however. His friend tried to bridge the gap. "You wrote that?"

"Apparently."

"Why?"

The Bo-staff master considered, for a moment, to lie by omission. To keep his reasoning as cryptic as possible, as with Mirk. Perhaps the professor would believe it to be simply a reminder. It could be fitting, considering the machine itself… And though such a thing would at the very least be eccentric, perhaps it could be overlooked and understood through decades of solitude and separation from the biological world.

But this was a man he was going to ask for help. Help to accomplish the impossible. To make his one dream and hope come true. No matter how tempting the lie was, it was not something he could muster. They were going to need trust here.

"It told you…" Donatello tried. "I'm having some… _minor_ … malfunctions."

" _Bleep_." Zayton offered.

"I'm not insane."

"I assure you my friend, I implied no such thing."

"Really?" The turtle asked. "I thought you were supposed to be smart."

"Well… _Blip…_ Believe you me, Donatello; I know first hand the stress and grief and regret from failing loved ones… failing yourself and feeling responsible for the destruction of worlds. Its not an easy burden to bear. And something like this… Its not insanity. _Bloop_. I wouldn't want to meet the person who could go through all of that and not have… _a moment_ , once in a while."

"How do you cope?"

"When I figure it out..." The head chuckle miserably. "I'll let you know. _Bleep_. But I think… if anywhere… the grace lies in accepting our shortcomings and moving forward. There is no point in dwelling in the past. We can only, and must always, strive to do better in the future."

"Interesting choice of words." Donatello spoke as he walked towards a nearby desk. Gently, he placed his friend down and kept him upright with the help of some advanced physics handbooks. From his place on the desk, the professor had a good eye on the machine. "How's that worked out for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Donatello said as he moved for the machine. His metal hand touched the helmet as he collected his thoughts. "Professor, … You atoned for your sins. You did all you could to correct your mistakes. And I am grateful for that. I don't hold anything against you. But in the end… was that enough, for you? Did, knowing you could never right your wrongs entirely, it ever feel like you'd done enough? Even now?"

"No." The professor admitted. "You can only try to make it right, knowing you'll never truly succeed. You can only do all that you can."

"I've done all that I can here. My brothers and I saw to that. And for the past few decades, without them, I've been carrying on. Never relenting, because I promised I wouldn't."

"You're not responsible for this, though, Donatello." Zayton urged, his voice pressing.

"It was our job to protect this world."

"And you, _Blip_ , did your best."

"And my best wasn't good enough." The mechanic turtle turned to his comrade in frustration. "Look… I don't want to spend all night arguing about this. You can at least agree I feel responsible. You can get that?" When Donatello got the distinct impression that his friend would have nodded if he could have, he continued. "I've given everything I have to the future, professor. And I don't regret that. But I can't keep going. I can't. And I know it won't be enough. Not even then… But I have to dwell on the past. I have to do more. I can't truly undo our failure… But I have to do the next best thing." His hand found the support of the horror-throne and squeezed it.

"I'm not following, Donatello. Sorry."

"Do you know what this is?" Donatello asked, gesturing to the metal seat, helmet and assortment of machinery and vials plugged into it.

"I'm trying my darnedest to shake my head, my friend."

"What if I told you this part here..." Donatello continued, pointing to a metal box left of the horrid seat. "Is relativity-circumventor and I've just finished installing a Heisenberg-amplifier module."

The professor's lights for eyes grew bright and large.

"My word… You haven't… _Bleep_?" The beheaded cyborg started.

"I haven't." Donatello agreed. "It still needs some different modules here and most importantly I can't get the calculations right. I've tried, for the longest time… But I just can't get them right. After that, it would simply be a matter of finding an energy-source strong enough to get it to work."

"A _time-machine_?" The flabbergasted professor exclaimed.

* * *

With the thorned whip still around its neck, cutting deep and leaving green sap to run down its shoulders, Indi fell to his hands and knees before the almighty God.

"Well what do we have here?" The mutant heard its master's voice bellowing; putting up quite the show. On this higher platform, Indie had no doubt they were most visible and all eyes would be on them. "A mutie not interested in bringing about my vision?!" The horrible voice droned on. "What? You think you can just decide not to work for me?! Like you're some person?! You are just a stupid plant, you…. Look at me when I'm yelling at you!" The tantrum was growing louder.

And yet, Indi couldn't get itself to lift its head up and meet the God's one-eyed gaze. Not out of defiance, but rather out of fatigue, fear and desperation.

"I SAID LOOK AT ME!" The monster raged.

No sooner had he screamed or Indi felt the metal boot hitting him square in the stomach. The force was enough to lift it up and send it falling onto its back. The thorned whip tugged and tore more skin in its flight and crash. Through its tears, Indi was finally looking at the pink God in the hulking, metal body.

"Hey..." The monster spoke in what had to be mock-kindness. "Don't I know you?"

Indi wheezed.

"Yeah. Yeah." The God's tentacles moved and along with the metal arms. The frame's fingers snapped knowingly. "You're that one. The one that brought me the kabuto. So what? You think that means you don't got to do stuff no more? That ya can be as lazy as ya want?"

Indi's hands reached for the whip in vain. It was too tight and cutting too deep. An answer, even if it'd still had the strength and the will, would have been completely impossible.

Raising it's artificial arms, the god claimed all attention, making himself the center of the world. The guard that had dragged Indi, it seemed to the gentle mutated plant-man, seemed to revel in the display. There was a sense of pride for delivering its fellow cacti to its master.

"I give you lot simple instructions, because I know you ain't capable of much." The god spoke to those below, turning his back to both Indi and the guard. But even now, all hope and illusions of escape were thrown out the window.

"In fact, ya morons, there is only one simple rule!" The monster screamed. "Ya Do!" It exclaimed. "As I!" It continued, punctuating the words. "Tell Ya!"

Filled to the brim with rage and indignation, the hulking metal frame turned. His voice now turned cold with anger. A more personal anger, seemingly aimed straight at Indi. With slow, calculated steps, the behemoth drew near.

"And if ya don't listen..." The God promised menacingly. "I ya don't hear what I say… You'll feel it."

For all of three seconds, he stood there, looming over the fallen cactus; heaving under the crushing weight of his own wrath. And then, without due notice, the savage attack began. The huge metal fist was sent flying and when it made contact with the face, the green blood exploded into all directions. Indi watched in shock as the heavy guard staggered back from the blow, releasing its grip on the whip. It didn't have time to recuperate for long however; One of the God's metal arms deployed like a buzz-saw and raked it across the legs. The guard fell to the ground moaning deeply and horribly.

"Didn't I tell ya?!" The God accused.

From its place on the ground, Indi could just make out the squirming figure that had been its captor. Its one arm reached out, pleading for its master to stop. But there was an insanity in that monster's eye. Something far beyond reason and pity. One quick transformation later and the God's arm extended a huge laser-gun that made short work of the Guard's arm.

"Didn't I?!" He screamed as he clambered atop the fallen and maimed cactus. Indi saw him grabbing it by the neck and squeezing tight. His other hand turned into a fist and rose high into the air. It came plummeting down, causing the body to writhe, but there was far less movement after it connected. And even less when it connected again. And again. And again.

"I told ya! Ya stupid neanderthal!" The god screamed as his fist bashed time and again against the cactus' head turning it rapidly into a mushy pulp. "Nobody! Touches! That one!"

By the time the Kraang was finished, he'd been pounding his fist straight into the floor of the bridge. There wasn't even any twitching left in the body now. Nothing whatsoever.

Heaving from the effort and the uncontrolled wrath, the monstrosity finally rose, turning once again to his shocked audience. "This one!" He shouted, pointing at Indi. "This one has done more than all you lot combined. "I am a merciful leader." His voice carried. "A just leader. Do as I say and I will grant you what you need. I will protect you. But fail me… And you will end up like this baboon!" He added, now pointing at the dead cactus. "Now all of you..." His voice dropped to a sickeningly sweet for just a second. "Would you all just kindly… GET BACK TO WORK!"

The scuffle below told Indi all it needed to know. There would be no mutiny. Not today.

"And you..." The trans-dimensional creature said as it turned its focus back to the battered but living cactus-mutant. He gestured to its less fortunate counterpart. "Clean this mess up."

Indi supressed it's screams. _This was technodrome_ , it reminded itself. _And death was listening. It would take the first one who screamed._

* * *

Honeycutt hadn't missed his arms quite this much in over a century's time. As his long-time friend rambled on about the sleepless nights and countless hours he'd spent in the infernal contraption, the fugitoid wanted no more than to gesture him to slow down and to lay his hand upon him in a soothing fashion. Truth be told, the lad seemed so fanatic, so excited and anxious, … It came across as both worrisome and pitiful.

"… Of course I still need to calibrate the flux capacitors and therein my calculations fall ridiculously short." Donatello went on. "But I've made great progress on the 'Distortion Receptor With Higgs Overlay'. Really, all I need is the mathematics to write the necessary codes and then only an ample energy-source. If we had those, we could be travelling through time in no time."

Though not having a body to exhaust, the boy seemed exhausted when he finally turned back to Honeycutt and back to a stable footing in reality. The professor didn't like it, but he was going to have to knock him all the way back to the ground. For the boy's own sake.

"Donatello. You forget..."

"I forget what?" Donatello asked, suddenly seeming hunted and filled to the brim with worry as he turned to the throne. His hand caressed the only line of hope he had for the future. Or the past. Or … _the_ _future passed_.

"Even if you could power the bloody thing..." Zayton said, trying to keep his tone light. "Even if the parts you made it with were adequate. And even if I provided you with the necessary mathematics..."

"You could?"

" _Blip_ … Well of course I surely can." The professor retorted, succumbing to the momentary derailment at the question of his qualifications as a scientist. "It might take me a few days but… But that's not the point Donatello. Even if all that went well, it'd still be impossible. When the black-hole generator went off in the prime-reality and it swallowed the earth, the presence of the black-hole negated any chance of repeated local time-travel. I told you that when we first met, didn't I?"

"I remember." Donatello challenged, for some reason not seeming fazed at all.

"Do you know something about physics that I don't?" Zayton asked, picking up on his attitude.

"Not much." The turtle replied, collecting a chair from across the room. He sat himself down in front of his friend and continued. "But maybe one thing. Did we ever tell you about Renet?"

" _Bloop_?"

"A time master. Well… Mistress."

"A Time-Mistress?" Zayton asked, slowly.

"In training." The metal turtle added.

"Ah." Zayton replied, pretending that made more sense.

"We met her both before and after our adventures in space. Before and after the Black-hole generator struck. She never had any trouble getting to our time and space with her time-scepter."

"A… _Bleep_ … Time-scepter..." Perhaps he had to review his previous notion regarding Donatello's sanity after all. Poor overstressed kid.

"Yeah, she always used to say that were the turtle heroes that saved the world numerous times. And yet now, we live in a world that never will lead to that. It forms a paradox that has in no small way intrigued me over all these years. Its what first got me to hope that maybe we could go back in time and set all of this right, after all. Like we had travelled with her to so many times and places." The mechanic turtle paused. "Something wrong, professor?"

"It's just… Blip… That what you are saying is going against the current interstellar understanding of trans-dimensional physics. You can't just ask me to believe in some mystic timelord and her sonic screwdriver and…."

"Time-Mistress." His friend corrected him sharply. "And a Time-scepter. Not a screwdriver."

"Details." The professor quarrled, feeling his pride as a scientist well up. "It sounds like magic to me."

"Doesn't all technology and science we don't yet understand? I am a scientist too, professor. But I know there are shifts in paradigms and jumps in knowledge. And I experienced first hand how much behind I was when I first met someone as brilliant as you. Can you not imagine the same humility? Can you not imagine, somewhere in the cosmos, thousands or millions of years from now, there will be those who know more than we do today? Who can do more?"

The professor bit back his words. Time had clearly had it's effect on the once slightly subservient Donatello. The defiance in his voice was a clear testimony to that. But, truth be told, even if Zayton didn't like the tone, he had to agree, deep down, with the message. So rather than scolding or arguing, he took a moment to reflect how consumed and driven this seemingly immortal, mechanical turtle must have past the last century. And that regret was something the professor could relate to. At last he sighed.

"Given that what you say is correct and that there is some… _higher form_ … of time-travel, some path that… well, I don't even know how to _Bloop_ put it… that… takes a path unbeknown to me… I don't think I can make those calculations then. I wouldn't know where to start."

"I know where to start. I just can't get there on my own." Donatello replied, bending closer to him.

"What do you mean?"

The turtle reached passed him. From the corner of his synthetic eyes, the fugitoid saw him draw an external hard-drive. As the turtle continued to plug it in into the fold of it's shell, he explained.

"I've had a few occasions to work with the scepter. I've studied it. I don't understand it." He said, seconds later, he unplugged the drive. "But you might be able to bridge that gap. On here..." Don offered the memory-bank. "Is all the information I have on the thing. May I?"

"I'd nod if I could, my good chap."

His friend's metal digits were gentle as they pugged in the device at the back of Zayton's decapitated head.

"Good thing I've got a universal port." The fugitoid commented cheekily.

As he allowed the foreign device access, he tried to steel himself. To prepare himself for a new understanding of the universe. His preparations didn't even come close. The information… The realization and understanding: it was both world-shattering and -recreating. As the bytes flew through his brain and filled in the gaps he didn't know where there, the entire space-time-continuum folded in on itself inside his mind and expanded into a multitude of realities more wonderful than he'd previously ever been able to imagine.

"You okay, professor?" The robotic turtle asked, his old caring self shining through again.

Though he hadn't had a real body in such a long time, Zayton could feel the tears of awe well up, like phantom pains.

"Time it's not… _Bleep_ …" The professor started, eyeing his friend. He was aware how his voice shook, but he couldn't control it. Nor did he try. "It's not a straight line. It's not a circle. It's not a tree. It's nothing like that at all." He breathed. His friend nodded encouragingly. "It's… It's like..."

"Like a multi-dimensional lasagne that's been out of the fridge for 12 days?"

"Exactly." The fugitoid felt relieved someone else shared this sudden insane epiphany.

"So can we do this?" His friend asked, seated eagerly on the edge of his seat.

But he hadn't heard. His mind still boggling at the ground-breaking news. "Huh?"

"Can you work with this?" Donnie explained himself. "Can you crack the calculations?"

Honeycutt's eyes focused instantly on the machine Donatello had slaved over all these years. Suddenly, it all made sense. His eyes darted back to his friend. "You made a helmet." The professor said, accusingly, his mind still drowning in a see of new information.

For a second his friend seemed embarrassed. His visor turned to the ground. It was clear he dared not face him as he replied. "I couldn't think of another way. It had to be this."

"Donatello… You can't be serious?"

"It's the only way." Donatello spoke sternly, finally meeting his gaze. "Look we can't take the highway. You said it yourself. We have to take one of the hidden paths. And getting a power-source with our equipment will be a challenge enough. We're centuries and solar-systems apart from creating a immaterial conductor, even if we knew how. Using the mind as a makeshift one is the only way. You know this to be so."

"It'll crush you."

"You don't know that." The boy countered feebly.

"You know it!" The professor declared hotly. "Blip… I get what you would be doing. If you want to turn your body into an anchor and mind into a conductor, a line… Bleep… By travelling backwards down the line while you, your body, is still travelling forward here, you are … think of it as reinforcing the line, temporarily at least. You might not be able to keep that going forever, but it wouldn't get bent as long as you kept your conscience together, while the entire universe would exert pressure, the line would be unable to break. And by manifesting … Bloop… yourself in the past with this line reinforced, you'd force the universe to split off into a different… line, path, whatever. But the entire time-space continuüm? Donatello, you can't be able to expect to keep your conscience together."

"My faculties might be scattered, but my purpose isn't, professor. And my mind is now without a brain, it is the only one that can substitute for a conductor. It's without mass and attachments. It can serve as the reinforced line."

The Fugitoid tried his desperate best to stave off this madness. "Even if your mind could take it, Donatello. At best the experience will cause disorientation and black outs… Hell, there will be _white ins_! I don't even know…. _Bleep_... exactly what they would be like, but they'd be there; the exact opposite of a black out."

"Isn't that being conscience?"

"Oh no; it would be moments of overloading and paralysing hyper-awareness. _Bloop_ … You wouldn't be unaware of things, you'd be too aware of things. Things in present, past and future. That much stress… Donatello, in time it would tear your conscience apart."

"How much time?"

"That's the question, isn't it? With time-travel and the distortion of that fourth dimension… Who could tell. We're going to have to invent a whole different mathematics to even comprehend it."

Donatello sagged in his chair.

"So why would you put yourself through that?" The disembodied head asked after a while. "You wouldn't fix this world. And you wouldn't be able to stay in the other one indefinitely. Your anchor, your body, will be here. _Blup_ … Even if the strain weren't to destroy you, your body would run out of energy after a while. Say you could do it… Say you could create this alternate universe… It would be one you couldn't live in."

"But others could." Donatello countered.

" _Blip_ … Pardon?"

"Professor… I would lie if I said I hadn't considered changing everything. But however messed up this world has become, I know I can't undo it. My brothers and I failed, but new life has bloomed since then. This tribe… I couldn't undo their existences, even if I could turn everything back. I can't erase them… make them pay for my mistakes. But every single day I continue to exist here, I can't stop thinking about that. I can't stop beating myself up over it. I want to change it. I desire it more than anything. I want to take it back. And as I told you, Renett even said we were the turtle-heroes that had saved the world so many times. So how could we fail? …. So you see, I have to make it work. I have to make an alternate reality in which she was right. To give ourselves, somewhere else, a chance. I just… I want to know that somewhere… they were alright… Karaï, Shinigami… My brothers. Casey…"

"And…" The head ventured. "April?"

He nodded. "Yeah." Donatello agreed. "And April. I just… I can't… I can't die not having that be somewhere… If not here, then somewhere… I want to give us all a chance. I want the world to be saved… somewhere."

"Donatello..." Zayton tried, feeling like he was losing the conversation.

"Look I just..." The boy said, but got no further.

His voice abruptly stopped, his visor turned red.

"Donatello?" Zayton's dissembodied head asked, concern for his friend rising.

When a response abstained, Zayton continued calling the ninja's name. Even when a strange static started to arrise, quickly taken over by what he could only describe as elevator music. And the boy just sat there, lost to the world.

"Donatello!" The fugitoid screamed. "Donatello!"

It was almost twenty whole seconds before the android showed new signs of consciousness. With a start the metal frame shrugged back into the world. In one go it's visor turned back from red to purple.

"What?" The boy asked, clearly distraught. "What?"

"You uhm..." Zayton started, feeling somewhat relieved at the return of his fellow scientist. Though the underlying worry remained. "You zoned out there for a second, or twenty, my friend."

"Ah, bunker apples." Donatello sighed, hanging his head in his hands.

"Minor malfunctions?"

"I know what you are implying. But this doesn't mean I can't take it. It just means we need to hurry."

"Donatello… Come now, you're not well. _Bloop_ … You can't do this right now."

His friend seemed to ignore him. Zayton's guess was that it was intentional. His pressed conversation tried to waltz all over his ow. "The last time I made a mental connection to the Mark II when I still had my body was two hours before the Mutagen bomb went off." The metal turtle droned in a rapid pace. "We were gearing up. But if we travel through that connection I could theoretically speaking inhabit my old body. For an elongated time, that would cause problems; a brain isn't designed to run two consciences at once. Even if they are basically the same. But if my current conscience just travels through, it should be fine. I could move through the fourth dimension, backwards inside that brain until the time I made the first connection to this metal body; one day prior. Then I jump into Metalhead and boot out past-Donatello." The excited iron turtle explained.

"Theoretically." Honeycomb countered, not unkindly.

"Theoretically." Donatello agreed. "Now look… Do me a solid here, Fugitoid. Don't tell me I can't do it. If I could, what would be my flaw?"

"Apart from the fact that you need to have your hard- and software checked out? _Bleep_."

"Assume that's fine? Assume you can make the calculations, based on your knowledge and my intell on the scepter? What would be the problem? If you get me there, I can get the job done. I know I can."

"Well… I'm saying… You know I said you could do it theoretically. So it's not really a flaw… but I wonder: Why not, for just a day or two, borrow your real body? I bet you would prefer that over this metal one."

"Past Donatello would be in that too. We could probably be harmonious for those two days… But it could cause lasting damage to him."

"But you are the same … _Bloop_ … conscience."

"I know what you mean. It's why it would probably be okay for a day. But I can't risk it. It could harm him in the long run. Theoretically speaking… If two minds were perfectly linked, they could exist in the same brain. But I have had other and more experiences than past me. Our minds wouldn't be 100% compatible. Prolonged exposure would, inevitably, lead to … complications."

"Such as?"

"A sense of … schizophrenia… I imagine. Black outs. More than the amount from the time-travel itself.… Loss of time as one mind dominated. Loss of memories. Experiencing things that weren't there. Experiencing things out of order…"

"And I suppose the perfect link would only by hypothetical?"

Donatello nodded in agreement. "If two minds were perfectly linked at the moment of… transfer or entwinement. I guess. But if they were just a second off… Probably they'd be okay for a few months, maybe a year… But inevitably; a rift would grow, exponentially."

"Alright." The professor conceded. "So you'd take this body, travel the road of your conscience back, enforce it with the pressure of the universe and hope it doesn't crack your very being into smithereens. All to create a reality you'll never inhabit." His tone must've been showing.

"You don't want to help me." The ninja concluded, picking up on it.

"I want to help you Donatello. _Blup_... I just don't think this fools errand is doing that. You're already falling apart. It will kill you… Worse perhaps… What if we're wrong and you're launched outside of time and space; forever adrift in the void that never was and never will be? _Bloop_?"

"I am falling apart." Donatello acknowledged. It seemed something especially hard for the boy to say. "I am." He repeated.

"Then let me fix you."

"The time it would take me to make you a body so you could fix me, even if you could because you think that how I even got into this state is impossible, would take longer than it would take you to do the calculations we need." Donatello wagged his finger knowingly. "And that would require a whole new set of spare parts. I wouldn't even know where to find them.

"Then let me..."

"I'm falling apart!" Donnie raised his voice. "I'm losing it. And its getting worse. So it's now or never, professor. Because soon there won't be anything of me left. I'm going to die soon." Appalled, Honeycutt didn't know how to respond. So small wonder that a few moment later, a dejected yet determined Donnie continued. "A few weeks? A month? Maybe a year? At the rate this is going? I don't really know. But I'm going to cease to exist soon. So you can either help me make that matter. Make _us_ matter. Or you can spend the rest of your natural life wondering if maybe, just maybe, taking the chance would've been worth it. And I don't think I need to tell you, of all people… But as someone who has lived a long life with the memories of friend let down; there are some things worse than facing almost certain death."

At long last, after what seemed like aeons of uncomfortable silence, Zayton sighed. "I'll help you make the calculations, Donatello."

"Professor, I..." The turtle's hand's reached out in appreciation.

However, Zayton didn't let him finish. "And… _Blip_..." He continued. "I've got some Fusion left in the old noggin. I'll be your power source too."

Somehow, the professor knew, if his friend could, he'd be crying.

* * *

Indi moaned in exhaustion as it finished shutting the heavy metal door. On the other side, in the small, tubular chamber, the body of the unfortunate bully of a guard lay. Indi peered through the thick glass and eyed the dismembered and maimed corpse. It felt like it ought to be lucky it wasn't lying there in it's place, atop the white slab. But it's disgust at the entire situation proved far too great for such trivial feelings. In truth, it didn't know whether to be happy or sad that the guard lay there. All it felt was an inner anger. At the guard? At itself? At it's cowardly people? At their monstrous God? At this flying fortress of horrors?

Perhaps all. Perhaps more than that. Perhaps…

Perhaps it was just tired.

The anger turned to solid depression as it's green hand moved acros the panel next to the door. A strange gas filled the small chamber and inside the body liquefied. It disappeared through the tiny drains in the slab.

More energy for the flying fortress of doom…

How many brethren had fallen? Fed to the _technodrome_? And if so many lives could only keep it barely at minimum power… What kind of terrible power-source could their God be after?


	5. The full moon

**A/N:**

 _Guess who's back?_

 _Renovations at my house are just about finished. I'll be moving in, in less than a month. Most of the hard work is finished. I've decided to celebrate by writing. God that feels good. I'm making good strides on 'The Art of Trying' and I'm hoping to update that one next week, or the week after, if all goes well._

 _But something about this story, I don't know. It's easier to write.$_

 _Many thanks for sticking by the story and me. And a special thanks to **Order of Alignment** , **ShortFandomGirl** , **JayBeeZZ** , **NutellaSwirl** , **TheDoctor1988** & **TheGreatGodzilla**._

 _I was most gratefull for all your comments. ShortFandomGirl, it's sad because the last episodes of TMNT were actually pretty sad. To me, in any case. I hope it doesn't ruin the story for you. I'm just doing my personal best in upholding the loss it presented and drawing it to what I would see it become. And TheGreatGodzilla, I can tell you I don't think I'll be reviving Ho Chan. More about the fates after M-day will be revealed, though perhaps not for all. And, perhaps, not as much in detail as you'd like. Sorry._

 _Enjoy, y'all._

* * *

 **Apocalypse Then**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The** **full moon**

* * *

Donatello didn't understand. None of it. It was like being back in New York, before anything as dreadful as M-day occurring. But it was a confusing experience and he couldn't help shake the realization that something was off about it. Something unreal.

And yet… There were his brothers, back to their old, teenage selves. And his friends Casey and April. So relieved he was to see them fine once more, that the fact that they were dancing so close to one another didn't even bother him. Not much, at least. And once again, he had his old body back. It felt too good to be true. But he didn't want it not to be.

Bright shapes and familiar faces flew by. Pizza's and ice cream in particular stood out. And comrades like Karaï and Shinigami alike, as well as foes; including the Shredder and the Super Shredder both.

At the sight of the one made duo, the back of Donnie's reptilian brain screamed danger. Even though the Einstein part of his mind told him this scene was simply impossible. And as that internal struggle between the rational and the irrational continued, he became vaguely aware of a sound. Though he could be swayed to labelling it a noise in stead. Loud and disorienting in his already hazy state.

He tried to speak, but between soaring through the skies, driving in a car and facing deadly foes in the streets, he found himself unable. Only _the voice_ could talk, interrupted only periodically by a second one; only ever growling.

He turned his head left and right frantically, trying to catch his bearings. The movement made his shades, which he only now realized he wore, sag slightly. It allowed him to gaze upon a sight that filled him with dread and anger, after knocking the breath right out of him. Such was the effect of witnessing the horde of long dead enemies; those responsible for the current state of the world: The Kraang. They seemed rearing to go; moving wildly and shouting. Yet they did not charge. All the same, Donatello tried to reaffirm his grip on his Bo-Staff. When he focussed on it, however, it turned out not to be his Staff at all. His fingers moved across the strange object on their own. Somehow, they'd learned how to work the instrument in his hands, even if he'd never done so himself.

And strangely, all the stress and fear disappeared as he let the moves take over. For the first time in longer than he could remember, a smile crept on his face. For a few moments the groove took up al of his energy. He hardly even noticed the redhead sliding up next to him; the device in his hands demanding his full attention.

Seconds later, however, she turned him to her, pulling at something around his neck. To his shock, he looked into her eyes and saw something familiar. Something he recognized in himself, like a mirror. It resonated. He'd always known it was in his eyes. And he'd hoped to one day see it in hers. The moment didn't last long. But that was okay. For though he didn't get to enjoy it for long, a moment later, she leaned in and he felt her lips. The entire world exploded into euphoria and every limb in his body turned weak. But still he was aware of the dopiest smile ever, still plastered across his face. There was cheering all around him and he could hardly argue. The world felt complete. As perfect as it would ever get.

Sadly, it didn't last.

He awoke from the dream with a sudden start, springing from his recharge station like a Jack-in-the-box. It took him a few seconds to collect his bearings in which he stumbled and turned around wildly; desperate to explain this sudden change in scenery and to claw his way back to the old one. They were all waiting for him there.

When the recognition of his upper lab in the bunker settled, the cold features it housed hit that much harder in contrast to the bright and sunny fantasy he'd left behind. Slowly but surely, the dream structured itself. It would fleet soon, he knew. But for now it was clear as day. The sheer amount of creativity that had flown into it was one of the first things to baffle him once he found his centre. Apart from anything related to nuts and bolts, circuits and wires, Donatello had never been the most imaginative of turtles. Still hazy from the experience, it was that realization that did not allow his calm to settle, despite having found his centre. In his state of confusion, it formed into a ball of rage and the certainty that it wasn't his own fault that he was falling apart. It took that centre and honed it into something defiantly sharp.

He was sick and tired of these malfunctions. These black-outs and visions and dreams and memories all flowing into one another. He'd had enough. Enough.

Donatello stormed from his room, not even caring if he disturbed the professor, one chamber over, from his calculations. He'd have no more of this.

The mechanic turtle rushed through the bleak halls and flew up the long stairs. The entrance to the bunker was thrown ajar with all his might, sending a high pitched echo through the valley. The cold air of a cloudless night greeted him. His one-man stampede brought him to the top of the hill. Where his brothers lay and the three oaks had grown tall. He came to a halt amidst the graves and turned his focus to the youngest of his siblings. If he'd still had lungs, Donatello would be fuming.

"What the heck was that?!" The robot accused wildly.

When Mikey remained as silent as the grave and it was obvious no clarification was forthcoming, Donatello continued his rant.

"I don't even play the keytar, Michael!" He shouted as he waved his fists in impotent frustration. "Is this your great plan? Huh?!" He asked, turning around as he held his head with both hands, lest the last functioning virtual braincells try to escape the incoming insanity. "Purpose for a tortoise! Oh yeah, I see it now!" He continued shouting. Not to his brothers, in truth. Not even to himself. Rather to the entire world around him.

"Such great purpose in going mad!" As he struck the key word, he turned back to the wise guy, wagging his finger. "Madness. Yes! That is exactly the word. Madness! A flying guitar, Mikey? A flying guitar?!" He cleared his non-existent throat with a furious growl. "I scream, you scream, we all scream for kitty." He added after a few moments of trying to hold his rampage in check. The lyrics sung in his dream persisting. His voice had fallen back to a soft sarcastic tone. "I scream, you scream, we all scream..." He grumbled with folded arm.

He tried to contain it, but the entire ordeal boiled deep within. He felt like literally exploding, yet settled for doing it figuratively.

"I scream for a quiet night of ones and zeroes!" He allowed at the top of his voice modulator. "Is that too much to ask?" He continued in an almost begging tone. It flipped soon thereafter, though, as he turned to Leonardo's grave. "And don't you dare stick up for him!" He added sternly and madly. "I haven't forgotten about that trip through feudal furry Japan you took us on the other night, Leo!"

The realization of how insane his current actions and reactions were, started seeping in. But he wasn't quite ready yet to climb down from such a high. He'd needed this venting more than he'd realized.

"Just what is the big idea here, huh?" He asked, spinning between the three white stones. "Don't you think I have enough on my plate?! Enough, without these distractions?"

His visor fell on Raphael's grave. "No." Donatello countered. "No!" Leaving little room for rebuttal from the already forever silent turtle. "No, Raph, you always played at being the loner. You always put up this front of being the one challenged to keep it together under immense stress… But you don't even know what loneliness is man! You don't ! And you don't know pressure! So no, I don't want to hear that stuff from you! So back off!"

He scared himself now. Scared himself enough to knock himself down a peg.

"I just… Look at where it has gotten me, guys." He stumbled his words out. "I'm talking to a bunch of corpses." He laughed softly and miserably. He felt like crying, but he would've fought it even if he still could have.

"You're not here." He held his hands open before letting them sag to his legs. He kept his focus on the torn moon sinking slowly behind the distant mountains. It was all he could do, not to fall apart.

"I'm trying here..."

A shooting star passed through the atmosphere. It was gone in a flash.

What more do you want from me?" He asked, not really expecting a reply. Though any would do.

"I'm trying to save a world. To save all of you." He turned from the shattered moon and his brothers alike. Trying to save the world… At this point, he just might as well be trying to glue the moon back together. Or be having a real conversation with the dead.

"And you're not… You're not helping." He explained desperately. "I need my mind. It needs to do too much. You can't … You can't keep clogging it up like this." He looked at them over his shoulder. "You really can't." He added. "Let me do this. Just this one thing." His chin clanged against his chest as his head sagged. "I know I can." He declared in a whisper.  
"All we need to do is trust in the professor. He'll have it all worked out in a few days." He began distancing himself from the scene. "Just… no more music video's, please… Okay? I just… I just can't."

* * *

Mirk awoke half an hour before the crack of dawn. Despite his excitement, he did his best to keep his volume down. In as much silence as he could muster, he gathered the last remaining belongings he had to pack; placing them in a leather bag which he tied to his bo-staff. The makeshift knapsack was slung carefully over his shoulder. It took great care not to break or wake anything or anyone in the small house. There was no use in waking his parents in the other room, nor his two elder brothers who were still snoring loudly.

Sure, his mother had wanted him to wake him so she could see him off on his big day. But part of him didn't want her too. Today would be a right of passage. A milestone. His transcendence from being a kid into a man. He couldn't really have his mother kiss him on the cheek and hug him goodbye for that, now could he? It was time to grow up.

So, silently like a ninja do, he opened the front door and after one last look, ventured out into the dark. He ran all the way to the center of the village. Upon arrival, he found he was the last but his master to arrive. His three best friends and most trusted allies were already waiting for him. They were all about of age with him, as was custom in their tribe. Always four. No more. No less.

His male teammate was the first to greet him. "Good you could make it." Jay raised his feathered wing/hand. His grey feathers didn't stand out well, but Mirk could recognize that pleasant voice from his short beak anywhere. The mockingbird-mutant, half a head taller than him, with a fierce determination to defend their tribe that could be rivalled by none, not even Mirk's, could cast about any voice he wanted. But you didn't live and grow and train with someone your entire life without recognizing the subtleties even he couldn't hide.

Mirk smirked as his hand clasped with the feathers that bent and acted like fingers. They drew each-other close patted one-another on the back. Mirk was careful to avoid the bird's bow and filled quiver slung over his shoulder.

"Can you believe the day is really here?" Mirk asked, still feeling overwhelmed. And as they broke apart, he continued. "Soon, we'll really be ninja's."

"If we don't screw things up." A playful yet sharp voice rang out.

Mirk was only just in time to see the tall, lean and very fast Preytor scuttle over. She towered over the both of them. Her green armor glistened in the moonlight, though most of it was cast in shadows. Her lower body, carried by four legs, was completely insectoid. Her upper body, though Mirk was unaware of what a human really was or looked like, was humanoid though stil retaining many of the other features. Her thick shields, her larger than human eyes and her face that was a tad too sharp to be human. Also the antenna were a dead give-away. But her arms, though long, were very human. Her two katana hung from her belt, ever at the ready. Mirk didn't know anyone more skilled with the weapons. Her mastery of the reverse-grip that their sensei had nicknamed 'Zatoichi style' was already becoming legendary. And it was a real downer to face in sparring. Not only because you could be almost certain she'd knock you down. It was that she'd never let you live it down. As her expertise and prowess grew, so did the mantis her confidence and ego.

Sensing the derision in her voice, Jay stepped in; the only one in the group that could keep her somewhat in check. "Today's the day, Preytor." He said to the female mantis. "We can't screw this up."

"Oh, I don't know." She mocked, bending down low and running her hands through the fur on the top of Mirk's head in a joking yet quite condescending manner. "Little Mirk here is quite creative. He just might find a way."

He knocked her hand aside and shot her a look.

"Oh, a little fire today!" She hissed, obviously thrilled as she put her face right before his. Her large eyes returned the stare with a hunger in them. "I like it."

There was always something concerning about that hungry stare Preytor could dish out. Like it was something primal from her mutated DNA. Like she was constantly deciding between whether to kiss you full on the mouth or to eat you whole. Even after all these years it still sometimes got to Mirk. But today was important. So he simply wouldn't let it, today. Besides, as difficult as she might be from time to time, Preytor had proven where her loyalty lay. And, even in moments like these, Mirk still considered him to be one of her closest friends; in her own special way.

"We should not take our success for granted, though." The last of the four voices rang out.

As Mirk and his other friends turned, they found her still seated at the foot of the sundial in the middle of the square. Himizu sat staring, as ever, quite literally at nothing. The blind, black-coated female mole was the only member of the team smaller than Mirk, and not by much.

"Overconfidence does not bode well." She added, making her statement uncharacteristically long.

As usual, she didn't even speak in the group's direction. It was something that had taken getting used to. To others less close, it sometimes came off as if she was either ignoring you or being quite condescending. But the mole-mutants in the tribe, all born without the use of their eyes, had never learned this basic etiquette. Instead sounds and smells informed her of the world beyond the darkness. And that wealth of information, was everywhere. Focussing on one small part simply would not do. And if she kept the information coming, she had need of cane nor aid to walk about. Nor to fight. Though her quiet and peaceful character always kept her in check from truly laying it on her training-partners, her defensive style utilizing the dual Tekko-Kagi placed atop her already sharp nails often seemed nigh-on impregnable. In training, this often allowed her to win by points, though hardly ever by knock-out.

Mirk shared a look with Jay and offered. "But we can have some confidence warranted I ourselves? In our abilities? Right?" He asked. "And each-other."

"Well, definitely that last part." Preytor agreed laughing as she grabbed him by the neck and proceeded to give him a knuckle-sandwich.

Everyone seemed to find it funny as Mirk arguously freed himself from her grip. Even Himizu smiled.

"Think about it you guys." Mirk went on after finally freeing himself, undisturbed in his optimism. "Every year the metal master chooses the groups he deems ready… ready to be ninja."

"And Kunoichi." Preytor snapped challengingly as she folded her arms.

"And Kunoichi." Mirk agreed, pointing at her without losing a beat. "And he takes these teams on the final test, one by one. Never before has a team he's considered ready failed him. So no doubt; at the end of this trip; we truly belong to the Hamato clan! We're golden, you guys."

"Is that so, my pupil?" The voice rang out, freezing Mirk in his tracks.

The darkly gleeful expressions on his friends' faces did little to help him overcome this sudden sense of dread.

"Sensei..." He muttered playfully as he turned around. "I… uhm… I'd..."

The robotic body moved from the shadows of the nearby house and into the moonlight. His metal master carried nothing. He never needed anything. His expression remained stoic as ever.

"Oh no, please continue." His sensei said, bridging the gap between himself and the troup of children. "It's quite fascinating to watch you dig your own grave."

"I wouldn't dream of questioning your wisdom, sensei." No one was more surprised at the impromptu lark coming our of his mouth, than Mirk was. "If you think we are ready, we must be ready, for it's impossible that someone as intelligent and wise as you is wrong."

"Ah." Donatello chuckled, ruffing the young meercat's hair as he took centre stage amongst the group. "Resourceful." He acknowledged.

Mirk smiled.

"Yet transparent."

Mirk stopped smiling.

"A ninja's training is never finished." Donatello said, looking at his students in turn. They all seemed to hang on his every word. "Only the fool says he can't grow stronger, faster, better. Only the fools and the dead think their journeys have come to a close."

"So where does our journey lead us today, master?" Jay asked, stepping in. "We will not fail you."

"If you are to be ninja, you must first be able to follow me up to the mountains." He answered, pointing at the broken and edgy rim behind them. "We will leave soon. All of you must not arrive after sunset. Any time before, you can use to start a fire and eat and drink. But at sunset, we start meditating, the entire night through. And at sunrise, I shall give you all a task. Fulfil that task and you may call yourself Ninja of the Hamato clan." The master walked past them, leaving them to take in the road ahead. "You will set foot here never again as children, but as true warriors." He added, glancing over his shoulder. His body glistened in the light of the moon.

Mirk found himself and his friends sharing excited looks. They'd never ventured that far from the village before. The looming mountains had always seemed mysterious and beckoning. Today, they'd go further than they'd ever been. Both literally and figuratively.

"I will not ask you if you are ready." The metal master said, bending his artificial knees somewhat, and stretching his legs. "Only you can decide that." Returning his gaze to the mountains before him, he shouted. "Hajime!"

It took them half a second to understand the command and by then their sensei was already trailing off, running in his standard bent run; his arms flowing behind him. Mirk was the first to gear into action and start the pursuit. His comrades followed almost immediately after and Preytor quickly caught up and even sped past him. But he was the first to react, and that felt amazing.

* * *

Kraang subprime, well prime now, tore himself from the screen next to his throne. His one eye longed to study it more. The bleeping power signal creeping closer ever so slightly was hypnotizing at best. It would be his soon. And with it, so would the world. The way home. Dimension X. Everything.

"What?!" He shouted, turning to the green figure downhill from the high seat whose colour stood out to the chrome of the inner technodrome.

The dumb creature stared up at him expectantly. It took the new Kraang prime a second to realize it was his favourite one of the dumb plant mutants. Which was saying like it was his favourite haemorrhoid. Along with the nearing blinking light on the pinkish-purple screen, he counted down the hours until he'd have no more need for these pathetic sacks of needles. Soon he'd have full access to a whole army of Utrom, soon to be Kraang once more.

He'd always complained his Kraang minions were dumb and incompetent, back in the good old days. But they were his kind of dumb and incompetent. In fact, it was an incompetence you could count on. And once he had that back, these creatures would burn along with the rest of the planet.

Soon. But not yet. He needed to bide his time for now.

"Ah, it's you." He said, as his slimy tentacles worked the levers of his giant robotic body, allowing him to step down to the creature's level. "I have a special job for you."

The tall, lanky cactus mutant nodded it's head sadly, bowing it slightly as it averted it's eyes.

"You will take this." The former Utrom said, producing a small scanning device. "Hey knucklehead." He went on, a slight anger rising in his voice. "Look at me when I talk to ya."

With fear in it's big eyes, the mutant complied.

"You will take this, ya moron." Kraang subprime repeated, holding up the scanner for him to see. It was circular and in the same chrome as the rest of the drome with a triangular-like nob at one end, reminiscent almost of a metal christmass tree having fun with a hula hoop. He trusted it into the subservient creature's hands. "Good." He remarked sharply as the dumb creature made sure to hold it secure. "You'll take that and you'll take a group of our best fighters. And they'll escort you to the source as you track it with that, once we are close enough."

The creature nodded.

"By the looks of things, the energy source is somewhere underground. You are to find it and bring it back to me if ya can. Just like you did the Kabuto. Otherwise, to report back to me as soon as possible."

The creature nodded once more.

"Do you get me, cretin?" The creature from dimension X asked, it's flappy lips swaying. The telescopes in it's mechanic eye turned and zoomed and the folds in it's brain face furrowed.

The creature nodded again.

In an instant the monstrosity lost his temper. His mechanic hand shot out and grabbed the creature by the neck. To his pleasure it still did not drop the scanner nor did it fight back. As he squeezed hard down and heard it choking, he knew he was making the right call. This one wouldn't betray him. It didn't have the guts. And therefore, it was the only one he could trust with such an important power-cel.

"Tell me ya get me, ya uncooked celery!"

The creature moaned in that deep, long, offputting way of theirs.

The new Kraang prime released it's grip. His follower fell to his knees before him, panting and heaving. With one thorny hand it' carefully checked it's neck. With the other it held the scanner firmly in hand.

Subprime simply laughed madly.

* * *

Mirk panted, wiping the sweat of his brow. The sun burned brightly and this high up the mountain there was hardly any shade. He reached out his arm and Himizu reached for it gratefully. Within moments he'd pulled her up the boulder.

"Doing alright there?!" Jay called out, a few yards higher and even a few more away.

"Do try to keep up!" Preytor shouted rather playfully. Her two blades piercing a steep part of the mountainside, above Jay.

In one go the mutant mantis diverted her attention and returned it to the wall. Using both katana she climbed on, driven.

"Preytor!" Jay called as Mirk and Hizime clambered over some more rough terrain to reach their bird teammate. "Throw down your swords once you're up there! We'll catch them, that way Mirk and Hizime can climb up faster!" He continued his directions, now toward them. "I'll grab you by the shoulders with my legs, my wings can help drag you up, but I can't carry you, flying, all by myself."

"You sure you're still good to fly?" Mirk asked as he gave Hizime a boost.

This far up, it was evident flying was becoming more difficult for the large bird.

"I'll be fine." Jay promised. "Besides, it's the least I can do for you guys getting us through that shaft."

Mirk jumped up and joined his friends.

"We're all just doing our part." The young Meerkat agreed.

Without warning their blind friend's hands reached out as she jumped up. She caught the two swords without fail, by the handle, as they fell from the sky. Mirk's eyes grew wide. One of the blades had nearly taken a toe off in it's crash.

"Heads up!" The female insect called from above.

"Yeah, thanks!" Jay called back sarcastically.

"Thanks." Mirk mouthed to the female mole.

She nodded lightly and set to climbing. As Jay helped her, Mirk followed suit. He didn't need the swords that badly and could just about keep up with the other two.

"Is it just me?" Preytor asked way up there. "Or did you all imagine this day of trials to be a little different?"

"Just focus on the job at hand, PT!" Jay grunted as he did his best to help up Himizu.

"I'm just saying." The insect-girl spoke in a lavishly carefree tone. "I thought we'd be doing more than just climbing a mountain. I was hoping we could kick a little butt today."

"Preytor." The mechanical mechanic's voice came as a surprise to all of them. They hadn't seen their master in over two hours.

Mirk nearly lost his grip. He turned his head quickly to see his master on a nearby ridge, not bothered at all as he hung from one hand. His tone was as stern as it was unexpected.

"Training is not about violence." The metal turtle explained.

Looking up the steep wall, it seemed like his teammate was embarrassed by her words.

"Pop quiz, younglings." Donatello continued as he dragged himself further up the mountain. "Tell me the Ninjitsu way. What are our guidelines to conflict?"

"One!" Mirk yelled, trying to keep up with his master. He focused on his footing now. "Live by the code of the martial arts!"

"Two!" Himizu continued, planting one of Preytor's blades behind a rock. "Never fight unless someone else starts!"

"Three!" Jay groaned his shout, due to the sheer effort of his actions. "Always stick together, no matter what!"

"Four!" Preytor finished the mantra. "If all else fails, then it's time to kick butt!"

"And don't you forget it!" Their master called out.

Mirk looked over, but he was already gone again.

Or at least, they couldn't see him.

* * *

Professor Honeycutt was in his element, plugged into his friend's soon-to-be-time-machine. The information was flowing and with each calculation came another revelation. It was like being adrift in a never-ending ocean of pure math.

It took time. But that was no matter.

He was making magnificent strides. And with each and every passing second, their shared goal came closer into view. It was actually becoming to all seem possible.

Zayton knew he'd told his friend to leave him be for a few more days. But at this pace, like a puzzle becoming easier with the fewer the pieces that are left, he'd have a functioning model ready by the time he came back from the mountain.

How truly exciting it was.

To have purpose again.

* * *

The metal master looked over his pupils. The sense of pride and accomplishment washed over him. Atop the high mountain, their eyes closed and sitting cross-legged, meditating, they seemed quite serene. Donatello had placed them opposite to himself.

Meditation was one of those things that wasn't easy for him anymore. And despite the fact that back in the day he'd often felt like he could be using his brain for a million-and-one more useful and more practical applications, he longed for it now. As he always did when he brought a team up here. The flood of nostalgia for the good old days was overwhelming.

They'd done well in getting up here. As different as the four warriors might be in spirit, as well as appearance, they complemented one another. And they could clearly count on each-other. Their climb hadn't been record time, but impressive all the same. Especially considering this was the youngest group he'd ever taken.

A part of him worried if he'd done the right thing in rushing them… He was unsure if they were ready. But, with the frequency of his little 'hiccups' rising and with Zayton making magnificent strides in his calculations the past few weeks. Sometime 'later' might not be possible. He would probably either be malfunctioning too much or be obliterated by trying to abuse the fourth dimension. And he owed it to this group to see them through their initiation himself.

Perhaps similar worries had been what master Splinter had felt all the time. Perhaps the old rat too had reflected on these doubts during their group meditation.

But a part of meditation was to stop thinking. Or at least to stop forcing your mind and instead let it guide you. Even in life Donatello had never been good at handing over the control of his brain, even to himself. And now, as whatever he was now, pure thought, a concept of information running through a server in a metal casing, it was harder than ever.

He eyed his tranquil students; a sheer contrast to the turmoil of his own inner machinations. Their deep, rhythmic breathing was barely audible over the wind atop this high plateau. They'd reached the very top earlier that day. This plateau, however, proved much better camping ground. The bondfire for the night's right of passage was already well aflame behind him. He could not enjoy the warmth but at least he could register it. Behind his four students the sun set, far beyond the desolate landscape

You could see it from up here; just outside the maze of cliffs protecting their home. As their four shadows grew longer and longer still, Donatello was reminded, as always with these nights, why he took his ninjas up here. The small village, miles and miles away way down below, began to come alive. The tiniest of lights echoing the stars above. And as the torn moon climbed , chasing the setting sun, that little flicker of hope illuminated ever more brightly.

They had to see. All his pupils had to see. See just how fragile their tiny community was. They had to bare witness, with their own eyes, how it was like a flower growing in the desert. It was marvellous and stubborn and tough as the harsh world around the green place always loomed and always pressed. It was not to be taken for granted but to be respected; cared for. Appreciated.

The iron turtle tried shutting off his visor. Sometimes it helped to turn of his mind. Most often it didn't, serving only to enlarge the already extensive gap between himself and the world he was trying become one with. This time however, there seemed to be no particular and immediate aversion to the void. Trying to keep it going, he focused on the sounds of the wood cracking and breaking in the fire behind him.

Through no clear volition of his own, he imagined the accompanying sparks when the sticks and logs tore themselves asunder. Sparks in the dark, like stars in the night. Gorgeous stars, as beautiful as the first night his brothers and he had set foot on the surface. As overwhelming as with the nights he'd spent, lying atop the roof of the barn at April's old farm. As promising as the vast oceans of nebula he'd encountered during their adventures in space.

The void filled with stars and he found himself floating amidst them. He couldn't move; But that was alright. He felt at ease. Tired, but satisfied at a job well done.

His right arm came into view. Or what remained of it, at least. Wires were protruding from the sharp metal edges of where it was torn off, right above his elbow. A few sparks of white light exploded from them at random. Desperate to connect. But the lower arm was nowhere to be seen.

Not that he could see very well. His visor was cracked. And a subroutine within, barely functional itself, informed him that all systems were failing. His energy source was depleted. His hull had taken a major pounding. That probably had something to do with all of the rubble floating around him in space. He couldn't quite remember though. Yet, if he were a betting reptile, his money was on his lower arm and the missing bits of armor, as told by the dying subroutine, to be floating amongst the magnitude of metal.

And still, as he felt his body shutting off, he felt at peace. He wondered why, faintly, as the last of his artificial synapses started to wear out. The experience was, … unlike any other he'd ever had. For so long he'd longed to feel again. And now, this… it was almost like it. It was so close he could just about fool himself he actually could feel himself disappear. A bitter-sweet sensation, obviously. As his capacities diminished steadily, he felt blessed when the question for the source of his satisfaction was answered.

It came into sight, amongst the vast array of dancing stars, as his failing body drifted and spun gently.

The moon.

He knew that moon.

He'd seen many different ones on his voyages through outer space. But there was only one like that. One he hadn't seen in a lifetime. Not like that, at least.

Earth's moon; far off. But round. Full. And whole. Not like the rubble that haunted the wastelands at night. Rather; perfect and spherical.

He was awe-struck by it's simple beauty. He could cry, if only he could. His metal casing was cooling down rapidly in the cold void of space. Regardless, the frost forming on his near-mortal coil was no match for the glowing sense of pride welling up inside.

A glowing that only turned warmer as his now useless vessel spun on slowly, bring the Earth itself into his line of sight. That ball of blue and green, white and brown. As it had once been…

It was over. He'd done it.

He wanted to keep looking at it forever-more. But his cracked lens was starting to falter completely. Consciousness became a trying affair. The lights of his coil flashed on and off desperately. The sparks on his arm stopped completely. But it was all right. It was like being tired, on the brink of sleep. As if he were dissolving completely into code. One with the ones and zeroes. Fading, from one to zero.

Inside, he felt something clawing out. Perhaps a final system trying to reach him with some alert. But it became unrecognizeable.

Strange, though. It was familiar.

He wanted to understand.

Perhaps he could… After some rest…

Yes.

Just a little rest…

* * *

Meera sat peacefully on the bench outside her cottage. Her eyes were on the distant mountaintop. All around her the village was buzzing in the afterglow of a productive day. Fires and lights were being kindled. Darkness was setting. Children in all shapes and forms (and animals) were running frantically around the town-square, shouting, trying to get as much playing in before bedtime, hyped up on dessert.

She smiled. They grew up so fast. She'd seen it many times in this little community, and felt blessed for it. It never got old. Especially when she did.

But… With none had witnessing this growth been quite the same as with Mirk. Her grandson was already up the mountain. Younger than any of her children had been. Younger than any of her other grandchildren.

She reminded her so much of herself on that age. But he was more spirited and more happy-go-lucky than she or any of her offspring had ever been. She liked to think this was in no small way due to their community growing as well. Each generation was further removed from the horrors of the wastelands. The famine. The draught. The loss. The senseless violence. Sure, self-defence was taught and due to it, just about every kid thought they could play soldier. But none of them knew what it was like truly. So that was all it was; play.

She felt tired, but satisfied. And perhaps just a little worried, for her little Mirk. Up there.

Sure, he was in the best of hands. But still. Worrying was a grandmother's privilege. Her hand gripped her cane absent-mindedly yet firmly, spinning it around. Every one of her children and grandchildren had come back from that mountain, just slightly different. Not just a fraction older and more grown up. But just, altogether, a little bit more serious. She hoped it wouldn't be too much so with Mirk.

Her silent contemplation was shaken, quite literally. By an enormous trembling. And a loud crashing noise. The ongoing, deafening crash shook her very bones. The buildings all around them were quivering. Panic rose to meet the booming discord. All around her laughs were quickly turning to screams and crying.

She rose from her seat in a surprisingly steady fashion. Even as the world shivered all around her. She always held steady under pressure. Her old eyes turned to the far off cliffs protecting them from the wastelands beyond.

Something was coming. Something big.

* * *

A grave disturbance pulled Donatello out of it. Like a shockwave of… wrongness, cutting through his very being. A warning, not registered through his sensors but something deeper within.

He saw it, moments before he even heard it. Even at this distance the heavy rumble forced it's way up the mountain. In the last sliver of light from the setting sun, Donatello witnessed the giant orb ploughing mercilessly through the maze of cliffs. Like the full moon of his dreams, come back with a vengeance. His students turned to the sound and were as silent as he was. Frozen by sheer shock. He could only imagine their bewildered confusion at the unknown terror.

But it was worse for him. It had to be. A nightmare returned.

A technodrome, headed straight for…


End file.
